


Respect & Responsibility

by opalsandlace



Series: Respect and Responsibility [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Canon Rewrite, Canon horror, Character Death, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Girl Scouts, Good Friend Robin Buckley, Good Girl/Bad Boy, Good Sibling Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Innocent Reader, Inspired By Tumblr, Legal Drama, Major Character Injury, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racist Language, Reader is black, Redeemed Billy Hargrove, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Soft reader, Starcourt Mall (Stranger Things), Strangers to Lovers, Tags Are Hard, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, big brother Billy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-01-23 06:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 70,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalsandlace/pseuds/opalsandlace
Summary: A shy girl meets the town bad boy. What could possibly bring them together?
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Reader, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair
Series: Respect and Responsibility [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536703
Comments: 189
Kudos: 203





	1. an introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Slow burn set between Seasons 2&3. I honestly have no idea how long it’ll be. I’m just going where inspiration takes me at this point. Maybe it’ll be 3 parts. Maybe it’ll be 30. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Despite wearing one of her father’s old button-ups and an apron, Y/N still managed to get charcoal pencil on her dress and face. She had hardly noticed. There were more impressive things to see. The kids in her class were finally taking a project seriously. After months of watercolor painting, clay pottery, and magazine collage, the students had finally found a project that they were interested in. For this lesson, Y/N asked the students to sketch one of their heroes in charcoal. They could choose anyone, real or fictional.

Y/N circled the room, surveying the students’ progress and helping them out when they couldn’t get the eyes are nose symmetrical. There was one drawing in particular that had caught her attention. It depicted a young girl in a leather jacket and slicked-back hair. She stood, arms stretched forward and dark eyes blazing. The detail that really made Y/N pause was that the girl’s nose was bleeding.

“Max, who is that? A character from one of your comic books?” she asked.

The redhead looked up briefly and flashed Y/N a dimpled grin before turning back to her work. She was concentrating on the details of the girl’s sneakers.

“Somethin’ like that,” Max quipped. “She’s kind of a superhero.”

Y/N looked closely.

“This is really great, Max! Can I hang it up outside the classroom when it’s done?”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she rushed to cover her paper.

“No way! It’s, uh, really not for public viewing,” Max stuttered, face turning red.

Y/N held up her hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright! But it is pretty awesome,” Y/N urged.

Y/N turned her attention to the sketch beside Max’s superhero. The lines weren’t as clean and precise of Max’s piece, but it made Y/N smile, nonetheless. The drawing depicted a mustachioed man wearing a sweater vest and tie. It looked a bit like Mister Rogers.

“Dustin, is that the guy from that children’s show with the trolley?” Y/N wondered aloud.

Dustin frowned. Max buried her face in her work, trying and failing to hide her snickers.

“Aw, come on, Y/N!” Dustin crossed his arms. “It’s Mister Clarke!”

Y/N nodded silently. She didn’t see a resemblance.

“Okay everyone, finish up! Ten more minutes!” she called, looking down her Casio. The room had to be vacant before the custodians came by. Even though she taught the after-school art class every Friday, she had to move her supplies to and from her car every week.

Twenty minutes later, Y/N had gathered up the sketches to be displayed in the hallway. All except for Max’s. She had quickly slipped it into her Trapper Keeper. The handful of students who had stayed through the months of Y/N’s infectious love of art and community service milled out of the room. Max and Dustin stayed behind to help pack up her car.

The trio lugged the last of the bins into Y/N's hatchback. Dustin sat down with a huff.

"Alright! That's my workout for the week!" He kicked up his feet and reclined dramatically in the hatchback

"Since when does a Dungeons and Dragons campaign count as a workout?" scoffed Max.

"Hey!" Dustin couldn't help the blush that crept up his cheeks. So much for looking cool in front of the art teacher.

"Dungeons and Dragons? Is that why you're always in such a hurry to leave my class?" teased Y/N.

Dustin clutched his chest in mock offense. 

"I would never! Your art class is a ray of sunshine in the cloudy storm that is my life."

Distracted with laughter and talk of campaigns and canvases, the three hardly noticed the approach of a certain teal Camaro. The blaring of the car's horn in the quiet parking lot was enough to get their attention.

* * *

From behind mirrored aviators, Billy watched as Max's face changed from surprise to panic as she registered who she was looking at. Why did she suddenly look so nervous? She was with that Dustin kid, like always. There was someone else standing there too. Someone familiar. About his age. Max’s big head was blocking his view. He was usually late picking her up. Dustin was the only person he’d seen her with leaving the art class. Billy slid down his shades to get a better look as Max stomped toward the passenger side. She wrenched open the door and threw her bag to her feet.

Billy glared at Max for a beat, trying to decide how to approach his curiosity.

“What? You gonna drive?” Max snapped.

Shifting the car in reverse, Billy sped out of the parking lot. Clouds of dust and gravel rose behind them. He decided that being blunt and direct was the best approach.

“Who were you talking to?” His voice calm, even.

“Dustin.” Max looked out the window at the trees. She was a terrible liar.

“Yeah, I know who your loser friends are. Who was that chick you were talking to?”

“What chick?” Max feigned ignorance. She was starting to piss him off.

“Don’t be a fucking smartass. Who was that girl?” Billy paused and grinned. “You know what? I’ll just turn around and ask.”

“Wait!” Max shouted, just as Billy had slammed on the brakes. “It’s Y/N! Y/N Y/L/N, my art teacher.”

Billy’s jaw clenched. That’s why she had looked so familiar. He should have recognized her. Her picture had been in the school paper Max had brought home. Something about a volunteer art class. He should have put the pieces together sooner.

“You’re not goin’ to that art class anymore.”

Max rolled her eyes.

“It’s not up to you. I’m taking it because Mom wants me to. She wants me to have a hobby that’s more _ladylike_.”

Billy seethed. He swore Max was so dumb sometimes.

“It’s not about the class, doofus. It’s your teacher. Dad’s gonna flip his lid if he sees you with somebody like her.”

“Like what? She’s like a Girl Scout or something,” Max grumbled, sinking lower in the seat.

“You know what I mean.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter. He wasn’t about to let Max start more trouble for him.

It was bad enough that Max had been hanging out with Lucas Sinclair. But if Billy’s dad found out that Max was spending time with Y/N too? He’d never hear the end of it. Neil Hargrove was obsessed with keeping up appearances. Billy’s father had been even worse in California. His family had to look perfect on the outside. Wonder Bread and picket fences, well-behaved children and a manicured lawn. He believed that certain types of people would…sully that image. Billy didn’t agree, but it wasn’t worth getting his ass beat.

“Look, just don’t let him see you around town with her,” his voice taut, “Just art class.”

Max felt a lump form in her throat. She took a calming breath, eyes staring at the roof of the car. She hated that her stepfather was this way.

“Yeah, whatever. Just art class,” she conceded.


	2. arts & crafts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not good at writing these.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I’ll get to some action eventually. It’s just some much fun writing lil’ scenes here and there. Just know that if you’re actually reading this fic, ilysm. This is gonna be a slow burn.

Regret was bitter in her throat. She knew better. She was smarter than this, more mature than this. Yet, she'd still managed to get herself into this mess. The remnants of her poor decisions would mark her skin, her hair, her clothing for who-knows how long. A strangled breath burst from her lips. She had forgotten, for a moment, to breath.

"Y/N, I am so _so_ sorry. I'll clean it up, I swear!" Erica pleaded. She was in even worse shape. Her hands shook slightly as she, too, took in the sight before them. "Mom won't be home for, like, an hour and a half. I got this. It's fine."

Furniture.

Carpet.

The vase of silk flowers.

Both girls.

Covered in _glitter._

Metallic and pink, it glistened throughout the entire sitting room. Buried in the fibers of the carpet, slipping between the couch cushions, stuck on perspiring skin.

Y/N nodded dumbly. The Sinclair's had a vacuum cleaner somewhere. A broom, too. What she really needed was a miracle.

"Erica--" Y/N stuttered. "The vacuum. We need a vacuum."

Erica nodded hurriedly before scampering off in search of a vacuum and a broom. 

Y/N grabbed a trash bin and a magazine. Using the piece of reading, she brushed the resplendent substance into the garbage. 

This was all her fault. Making snow globes had been her idea. She wanted to do a trial lesson before she tried it with her students. It should have gone smoothly. Erica had mixed the water and glycerin. The glass jar had been painted and dried thoroughly. She'd even added a My Little Pony figurine to the lid. It should have been perfect. But, Erica had a cold and a sneeze too powerful for a body so small. The jar of glitter was flung from her hand. The plastic container bounced from couch to coffee table to floor. The gust of the ceiling fan had done the rest.

At least Lucas was out with his friends. He would have been sure to snitch on his sister. Luckily, only Erica was home, with Y/N to babysit.

Erica trudged down the stairs, struggling to carry everything. Y/N rushed to grab the vacuum. After plugging it in, she made quick work of clearing the carpet of shimmery evidence. Her school-aged charge dusted cushions and shook clean the floral arrangement. The two blustered about the room, hunting down any trace of sparkle.

Some time later, the room was nearly pristine. Any glitter that had been left behind hid in cracks and corners, only noticeable to someone looking much too closely.

Erica plopped on the sofa with a huff.

"Whew! I don't want to see another piece of glitter ever again," Erica sighed.

Y/N groaned.

"Me neither. I guess I'll have come up with another idea for class. Something glitter-free," Y/N thought aloud. 

The silence of the room was broken by Y/N's sharp gasp.

"Erica! Your hair!"

"Huh?" Erica's hands reached for the ends of her carefully parted plaits. Glitter fell into her lap. "Uh oh."

"Don't move!" Y/N grabbed the trash bin and placed it on the floor. "Here. Shake it out. I'll go it your hair stuff. Your mom can't see your head lookin' like this."

Y/N sped out of the room and back again, armed with a brush, wide-toothed comb, gel, and black rubber bands. Erica dutifully sat on the floor.

"Man, I'm about to get into so much trouble! Mom just washed and pressed my hair yesterday."

Y/N's hands nimbly removed the barrettes and bands from Erica's hair. She combed through each section to detangle before attacking the glitter with the brush. Before long, Erica's hair was glitter-free. It was styled differently than before, but neat.

The telltale jangle of keys in the door had both girls’ hearts racing. Erica’s parents were back.

“Oh no,” whispered Y/N. If Mrs. Sinclair realized how big of a mess they made, she might never have Y/N babysit again.

“The moment of truth,” was Erica’s solemn reply.

The smells of Giorgio Beverly Hills perfume and Brut cologne mingled as Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair strolled in. The bright smile on Mrs. Sinclair’s face didn’t waiver as she entered the living room. In fact, it only grew as she took in the sight of spotless carpet and freshly dusted furniture.

“Y/N, did you help Erica finish her chores? The house is so clean, it nearly sparkles!” Mrs. Sinclair remarked.

Y/N and Erica exchanged cautious glances.

“And you did Erica’s hair! You are such a sweetheart, Y/N. What would we do without you?”

Y/N smiled nervously.

“Here’s your compensation for the night. Thank you for your help, Y/N.” Mr. Sinclair handed her a few bills from his wallet.

“That should be enough for some extra canvases or two, right?” asked Mrs. Sinclair.

Y/N stared at the cash in her hand: two twenty-dollar bills. She only charged three dollars an hour.

“Oh, I can’t take this. This is way too much.” Y/N tried to return the money, but Mrs. Sinclair placed her hands atop Y/N’s.

“Take it, dear. You’ve earned that and more. I don’t know anyone that can get Erica to clean,” she chuckled.

Erica sucked her teeth, earning a glare in the process.

“Thank you all so much,” Y/N said graciously. “Have a good night.”

Y/N gathered her bag and car keys.

“Take care of that cold, Erica,” she said, giving the girl a knowing look.

**(Recommended listening – “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel)**

The drive home was much less eventful than the evening had been. The static-crackling car radio played chipper pop music, adding a little pep to the dark and quiet streets. Y/N’s mind wandered to the events of the day before. Max and Dustin typically stayed after art class to help her clean up. Since the weather had been so cold, they would loiter in the hallways for a bit. Yesterday, though, the day had been unusually warm. They’d hung around in the parking lot; time had escaped them as they’d been caught up in easygoing conversation.

She had finally caught a glimpse of him: the legendary Billy Hargrove. The Keg King of Hawkins. Master of the Mullet. Incubus of Teen Wet Dreams. She’d heard whispers about him around town. He was known for his quick temper, smooth words, and competitive nature. There seemed to be a town-wide obsession with his long lashes and sculpted physique. Nearly everyone either wanted to get with him or get like him. Y/N didn’t understand the hype. From what she’d gathered about him, he was a total jerk. He got into fights, he smoked, he drank. He sauntered about like he was God’s gift to Indiana. Y/N hoped that he was, at least, kind to Max. Max hadn’t seemed very happy to see him, though. But that’s how siblings always were, right? Lucas and Erica certainly didn’t get along all the time. But Billy and Lucas were hardly comparable…

Y/N shook her thoughts from her head. She was probably just overthinking things. It’s not like she’d really run into him; she was home-schooled.

\---

**(Recommended listening – “You Might Think” by Cars)**

The lazy drone of fluorescent lighting was the loudest sound in Melvald’s General Store. The other was the shrill scuff of Y/N’s tennis shoes as she went back and forth from aisle to aisle She had scrapped the snow globe idea. When she had gotten home that night, she’d found glitter in unimaginable places. Never again. The new plan was bigger, better: a movable mural. She envisioned large sheets of paper that could be arranged in any order. The sheets would be mounted along the school walls, forming a mural. It would be made of multiple panels of various mediums. She would let the students pick which they liked best. She had a feeling charcoal pencil would be the most popular.

Now, she just needed to find the paper. She wandered to the back of the store, where the office supplies were located. Spotting what she was looking for, Y/N hoisted the heavy roll of paper into her arms and started toward the register. Despite the weight, she stopped to check out the first aid aisle. A few of her students were a bit accident-prone. Y/N did her best to fit the band-aid box between her chin and the roll of paper. It was a risk, but the register was just a few paces away. In her struggle, she didn’t notice the presence of a certain Hawkins heartthrob. As she turned, she nearly collided into the t-shirt-clad chest of Billy Hargrove.

“Whoa there, now. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Billy braced her shoulders with both hands to keep her from losing her balance. This close, she could smell the distinct scent of cologne, peppermint, and tobacco. Looking up nervously, she noticed that his lip was split and scabbed. That would explain the ointment in his hand. Had he gotten into another fight?

Unfortunately, with the precarious stack under her jaw, Y/N couldn’t get a word out. Billy took the silence as an opportunity to rake his eyes over her form. He looked her up in down, taking in the curves of her body visible underneath her sweatshirt and acid-wash jeans.

“Next time, try a cart,” he directed, sauntering from the aisle.

Y/N’s furrowed her brow. What was his deal? It wasn’t like she’d dropped anything.

She took her time comparing prices of paintbrushes. She wasn’t stalling, she told herself. Brushes could be expensive.

Deciding against anymore purchases, she placed her items on the conveyor, smiling at a familiar face.

“Hi, Mrs. Byers!” she chirped.

“Y/N! It’s good to see you! How’s the family?” Joyce Byers asked while ringing up Y/N’s purchases.

“Good! My parents are doing well, same old,” she replied, fishing out her wallet.

“I heard your art class is going well, too! I’ve been thinking of having Will join you. I think it would be…therapeutic for him.” She smiled sadly. “He loves to draw.”

Y/N nodded understandingly and paid for her things. She remembered the tragedy that the town had thought was Will’s death. Miraculously, he had been discovered alive. But kids were even more cruel to him than they had been before.

“There’s always room for one more! The next project involves some drawing, if he’s up for it,” Y/N encouraged.

Joyce lifted the heavy paper roll into a shopping cart.

“Is that what all this is for?” she asked breathlessly.

Y/N smiled sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah. The plan is to do a jigsaw mural. The kids can split into groups, based on which art project they liked best and design a panel together. Then they can come together as a class and decide how to arrange the pieces.”

“That sounds like a great idea! And this is all for Girl Scouts? They should pay you,” Joyce remarked.

Y/N shrugged, unaccustomed to the flattery.

“It makes me happy. And it seems to make the kids happy, too. That’s all the payment I need.”

Joyce shook her head, expression wide-eyed with incredulity.

“Well, give me a ring when it’s cookie season!”

“Will do, Mrs. Byers!” Y/N called over her shoulder as she pushed the shopping cart out the door.


	3. good things never last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as everyone in Hawkins wants a merry holiday season, something will always go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some four-letter words, allusions to racism

The next week, Y/N and her class started the mural project. It went much better than the snow globe idea. To say it went over well was an understatement. The students took the assignment very seriously. Their teachers, peers, and parents would see their work covering the walls of the school hallways. Three weeks into the project, after each panel had been designed and outlined, Will Byers joined the class. Y/N was happy to have him and his friends were stoked to see him there.

After weeks planning and creating, the mural was completed. The students stayed late to mount the panels on the walls, turning many pieces into one communal work of art.

Dustin stood in front of the panel that he had collaborated on. He smugly admired his contribution: a polyhedral die. He wiped an imaginary tear.

“This is my life’s work,” he sniffled. “After weeks of grueling hours, arduous labor, and—.”

“Are you gonna stand there and cry or are you gonna help us out here?” Max called. She stood on a small ladder, Will handing her pieces of tape.

“C’mon, Dustin. Don’t be a pain in the ass!” Will joined.

“Watch your language, guys!” Y/N chastised from a few panels away.

* * *

With the mural project at last complete, Y/N could focus on getting into the holiday spirit. Hawkins was especially jolly this year. At least, that was how it appeared. Store windows were decked in reindeer figurines and fake snow. Car hoods were adorned with tinsel and miniature wreaths. Every store in town, including the post office, was playing Christmas music. The town was buzzing with…anxiety.

Just as things seemed to go smoothly in Hawkins, some dark cloud would creep into view. Disappearances, destruction, and death—anything could happen next. The easiest way to push away the sadness and suspicion was with eggnog and chocolate-filled advent calendars. The best method, however, was to pick the perfect Christmas tree. That’s what brought Y/N and her parents to Merrill Wright’s tree farm.

Against the warm glow of hundreds of strung lights, the bare evergreens appeared regal and tall. The crispness of tree sap filled the noses of the families milling around for the perfect arbor. Well-worn boots and sneakers crunched against the gravel and sawdust that lined the ground around them.

Her father marched ahead, determined to find a tree that met his high standards. Her mother was more than content to admire the scenery--sights, sounds, and smells. Y/N ambled behind them distractedly, more focused on keeping her nose from going numb with cold.

Her thoughts wandered to the weeks of upcoming Hawkins events. She'd heard talk of the middle school Snow Ball, the high school Winter Formal, of holiday parties and movie marathons. She appreciated all the effort and care her mother put into her homeschooling, but it was hard to meet people. Adding that to being shy? Impossible. She considered joining her art class students in their fun. What did they play? Something about dragons...

The sound of her name called, in a voice girlish and familiar, broke her thoughts. Turning to the source of the sound, she spotted a familiar, freckled face bounding towards her.

"Max!" Y/N laughed, pulling the girl into a tight hug. Their bright grins mirrored one another's. "Out tree hunting?"

"Yeah," Max groaned, rolling her eyes. "Dad insisted. There wasn't a tree farm back in California."

"I suppose it _is_ part of the Christmas experience," Y/N replied, trying and failing to resist the urge to pull Max's hat down over her ears.

"He's making us get dressed up in holiday sweaters to decorate it tonight," she whined, adding, "while he plays Christmas music tapes."

Y/N laughed, her mirth filling the air in puffs of white vapor.

"You're kidding!"

Max snorted.

"I wish I was!"

The laughter quieted as Billy sauntered over to the two. He brusquely slung his arm around Max's shoulders. As a result, all three of them were standing uncomfortably close. Close enough to smell the mix of cigarettes, mint, and cologne.

His expression warred between smug and predatory.

"Wanna introduce me to your friend?" he smirked.

"You already know who she is," Max grumbled.

"_Manners_, Maxine," he growled, his tone not matching the wolfish smile on his face.

"Billy, this is my art teacher Y/N. Y/N, this is my step-brother, Billy," she presented, voice laden with false enthusiasm.

Y/N offered a mitten-covered hand.

"It's nice to meet you," she breathed. His hard gaze made her nervous.

Billy tilted his head to the side, ignoring the proffered hand as it was hastily hidden away in a coat pocket.

"I don't see you around much. Hear plenty about you, though."

Despite the cold, Y/N's face prickled with warmth.

"Good things, I hope?" It wasn't meant to be a question. He was just staring at her so _intensely._

"Hurry up, Maxine," he said, eyes never wavering. "We've got a tree to trim."

As Billy's formed retreated among the trees, Y/N let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Sorry about him," Max mumbled. "I don't know why he's such a jerk."

"Oh, I'm sure--I'm sure he means well?" That wasn't meant to be a question either.

Max shuffled awkwardly.

"Actually, I need your help with something," she said.

"What's up?"

Max blew out a puff of air. Her eyes drifted everywhere but to Y/N's.

"I need help with a project," she blurted. "It's extra credit so it's not a big deal. But it's for my English class. Shakespeare. It's a creative writing project. I have to write my own interpretation of _Romeo and Juliet_, but I can hardly understand the original one. Will you help me, please? My step-dad said I can get a tutor. I can pay you!"

Relief. She was certain Max was going to ask for womanly advice or help keeping some deep, dark secret.

"Sure, I'll help!" Y/N chirped. "And you don't have to pay me. It'll be fun!"

Max looked up from the brim of her knit hat.

"Are you sure? I really can pay you. If not money, I can pay you in pizza rolls or something. Just name it!"

Y/N laughed.

"It's fine, Max. Really! Just call later and we'll figure out the time and place, ok? I'll bring my copy of the book. It's got notes in the margins."

Max smiled with relief before launching herself into Y/N's arms.

"You're seriously the best."

Just as Y/N opened her mouth to reply, Billy's voice rang through the trees.

"Oh, Max!" he called in a sing-song, "We're leaving!"

Max scowled and mumbled a goodbye.

"Call me whenever," Y/N said with a smile.

She wandered through the foliage, spotting her parents easily in the sparse crowd.

Her father had found what he was calling the 'perfect' tree. It was nine feet tall. And, knowing him, he would insist on carrying it in himself.

Yards away, another family was loading their 'perfect' tree into their car.

Billy loomed over Max. His hand gripped her shoulder roughly.

"What did I tell you about being seen with her, Max?" he questioned lowly.

"Only _you _saw us. You promised you'd leave my friends alone," she shot back, eyes flashing.

Billy stepped back, hand instinctively grazing the side of his neck.

"So, she's your friend now?" He smirked, eyebrows raised.

"I mean, I hung out with her after school, once a week for like three months. So, yeah. She's my friend," she retorted, tipping up in chin with confidence.

"_And_ she's gonna be my tutor," Max added quickly.

Billy scoffed, "For that stupid extra credit bullshit? Yeah, fat chance."

"Watch me," she challenged before climbing into the van.

Max called later that night, as promised. Since it was Winter Break, they agreed that Y/N would come over twice a week. The first study session of the week would be to interpret Shakespeare together; the second would be to proofread Max’s own version of the tale.

A week later, Y/N sat parked in the Hargrove driveway. She killed the engine before sitting back in her seat with a sigh. Today was the first of many trips to the Hargrove household. She shouldn't be nervous, she told herself. This was for Max, who she'd do anything for. She had become like a little sister to her. But, despite that fact, she couldn't stop thinking about the rumors she had heard about Billy's father. Sure, Billy was known to be something of a bad boy. His dad, though? People said he was just an all-around terrible man. Steeling her nerves, she gathered her things and rang the doorbell. She took another steadying breath, hoping that it would be Max or her mother to welcome her in. Alas, the door swung open and she was met with the withering gaze of Neil Hargrove.

"Hi, Mr. Hargrove. I'm Y/N. I'm here to help Max with her project," she said, as she stepped through the doorway.

"Well, aren't you _punctual_," he gruffed. It didn't sound like much of a compliment.

Y/N stood fidgeting in the foyer. Her winter coat was suddenly incredibly stifling.

For more than a brief moment, Neil Hargrove's calculating gaze took in Y/N's appearance. She'd tried to look nice. Casual and comfortable, but nice. However, under Mr. Hargrove's regard, her trouser and turtleneck ensemble felt frumpy. And much too warm.

"Maxine tells me you're the smartest girl she knows," he remarked.

Y/N shifted, her books growing heavy in her arms.

"She's too kind. I'm really not all that--" she began.

"So, you're not smart?" Neil interrupted, folding his arms across his chest.

"No, I mean, I'm just--," Y/N tried.

"Average? Lackluster? Unimpressive?" he pressed.

"Not all that special..." she mumbled, biting her cheek. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"Y/N!" Max exclaimed, racing to give her a hug.

Y/N didn't miss Mr. Hargrove bristling at their contact. What was his _deal_?

* * *

The pair set up in the dining room. Thankfully, Neil Hargrove had left soon after Y/N's arrival. Susan Hargrove returned shortly after. She had gotten the girls each a glass of Tang and plate of snacks for their study session. The table quickly became littered with Post-It notes, index cards, and highlighters. Y/N had spent the last hour explaining iambic pentameter. After that endeavor and insisting to Max that this project _was_ indeed a good idea, they started the play. Max read the prologue aloud, stopping every so often to ask a question. For the first scene, they decided to split the roles. Max read as Gregory; Y/N read as Sampson.

"'True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,

are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push  
Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids  
to the wall,'" Y/N read.

"Wait a second. First off, that's sexist. And second, is he saying--implying...?" Max questioned.

"Yup." Y/N nodded.

"Gross!"

"It's only getting worse from here. We haven't even gotten to the wet nurse's part yet," Y/N replied, crunching a cheese puff. "C'mon, let's get through scene one and then call it a night.

"''Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I

have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the  
maids, and cut off their heads,'" Y/N read dramatically.

"'The heads of maids?'" Max followed, in a British accent.

"'Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;

take it in what sense thou wilt.'"

"Wait, can you explain that line?" Max asked.

"It's a pun."

Max nodded and gestured for her to continue.

"It's another one of Shakespeare's adult jokes," Y/N continued as Max looked at her expectantly. "Maidenhead is--it's that thing, uh, concept--.”

“It means ‘virginity’.”

Both girls jumped at the sound of Billy’s voice through the mostly quiet house. He stood in the doorway,

having just come from the kitchen to make a sandwich.

“Get out, Billy!” Max yelled.

Billy scoffed between bites.

“I’m just being _helpful_, Maxine. Seems like there are a few things I could teach your friend here,” he said, smirking.

Y/N’s face grew hot.

“Why don’t you go back to your room?” Max said.

“Look, I gave you your space. But it’s nine o’clock, I wanted a sandwich.” He shrugged.

"Nine o'clock? I'm gonna be late for curfew!" Y/N jumped from her seat. She hurriedly began packing her bag.

Billy snorted, "Curfew? It's Winter Break."

"I always have a curfew," she said, not looking up. Max carried the dishes to the kitchen.

Billy sauntered closer to Y/N, bringing along with him the increasingly familiar scent of aftershave, peppermint, and cigarettes.

"Don't you ever break the rules?" His voice was suddenly low and rumbling. She could feel it in her teeth. 

She dared look up at him. After all, eye contact was essential for polite conversation. Her breath caught as their eyes met. She had never noticed just how blue his eyes were. Framed by long, dark lashes, his stare was almost wolf-like. With their proximity, his intensity as his eyes blazed down at her, she felt frozen where she stood. Like getting called on in class when not knowing the answer. Like the moment right before making a decision that could be incredibly rewarding or frightfully dangerous. 

Max bustled back into the room, interrupting anything rude her stepbrother might have been preparing to say.

"Thanks for helping me tonight, Y/N. I won't ask so many questions next time," Max added, face reddening.

"It was fun," she hummed to Max. "I'll see you around, Billy," she added, to be polite.

"Maybe even past curfew," he alluded.

Y/N's eyes widened. She turned away quickly to hide her embarrassment. She hurried to the door, praying Billy wouldn't say another word.

Max followed, after shooting the offender a glare. 

"Thanks again, Y/N. Maybe we should meet somewhere else next time?" Max offered. 

Y/N waved off the girl's concern.

"It's chill. If we met anywhere else, you'd have to get a ride and that would just be a hassle. I

don't mind. Really!"

"Sorry about my...family." Mumbled words, a downcast expression. 

"No need." She smiled and headed to her car.

She made it through the entire drive home without her mind wandering. She greeted her parents, who had been worried and only slightly tempted to lecture her on the importance of checking in. She wiped off her makeup without losing focus. She showered and changed into her pajamas without thinking too hard. 

It was while she was carefully sectioning and rolling her hair that she began to ponder. Sitting on the floor in front of her mirror, hands moving thoughtlessly, she couldn't stop Billy from crossing her mind. There was something about him that she couldn't quite figure out. She'd heard about his reputation. Who hadn't? He was known to be boisterous, pompous, aggressive, and dangerously flirtatious. But with Max, he just seemed protective. Y/N's mind wandered to the sight of him that night. He'd appeared so suddenly, clad in only a wife-beater and basketball shorts. She'd been embarrassed to see so much of him. The outline of his physique glaringly obvious in the thin cotton. And that little bit of knowledge of Shakespeare. She bet that Billy was much smarter than he let on. His reputation, though--his persona was all machismo. Maybe, it was a cover. A front to keep anyone from getting too close. And with a father like he had, he probably never opened up to anyone. Y/N sighed, wrapping a satin scarf around her hair for the night. What did it matter anyway?

* * *

Billy lay on his bed. Tossing a basketball into the air, tapping a foot lightly to Van Halen through the stereo. He shouldn't think about her, she was trouble. But he _was _thinking about her and _he _was trouble. It was dumb, really: Y/N drifting through his mind. She wasn't anything special. She was too nice, too boring. Sure, her eyes were pretty, kind of. Yeah, her smile was charming or whatever. And her hair. How did she make it look like that? Didn't matter. It wasn't like she'd ever mess around with him. Or go on a date. Not that her parents would allow it. Not that his father would allow it. Not that even he wanted to. 

* * *

In the days that passed, Max and Y/N's study sessions went more smoothly. Neil Hargrove was far from polite, but he kept his gruffness to himself. Whether that was out of human decency or gratitude for the hours of time Y/N was selflessly giving his stepdaughter, he didn't say. Susan, though, was a constant and warm presence in the Hargrove home. She didn't speak much. However, she was always happy to see Y/N and prepare the girls a few snacks. When Neal wasn’t home, Susan would even sit down and chat with the girls. Billy, when he wasn’t out, mostly kept to himself at home. Occasionally, he would pop in to swipe some junk food or give them a hard time. Even more rarely, he would be helpful.

“How can something be a comedy _and_ a tragedy? That’s just complicated!” Max threw her hands in the air.

“Your story doesn’t have to be just like the original. You can make it one or the other, if you want,” Y/N encouraged.

“Just keep what you have and add some corny jokes or something. Tragic and comedic,” Billy said, leaning back in his chair. He’d come in with the excuse of stealing a handful of pizza rolls, but had quickly gotten comfortable.

* * *

A week later, Max’s extra credit was complete. She was so excited about it that she dropped it off to her teacher’s office before Winter Break was over. Her teacher had loved her story: a comedic tragedy about two teenagers from feuding families whose bond over monster-hunting had ended the centuries-old rivalry once and for all. Her grade had gone from a low B to a solid A. Her parents had been so excited that they’d gotten her a new skateboard. Her old one was covered in tape and wood glue. Max had called Y/N to thank her and insist on paying her back somehow. Y/N, of course, had declined.

  
With Winter Break soon coming to an end, one Hawkins educator was eager to make this semester the best he could. Scott Clarke arrived at Hawkins Middle School at 6:00am to ensure that everything was perfect. Closing his car door with his hip, he shuffled his way into the school with arms full of supplies. It took several trips back and forth before he noticed. After all, he was in charge of both science class and the AV Club. He carried boxes and bags of petri dishes, agar, glass beakers, and more, setting them carefully into their labeled places. On his fourth and final trip, he saw something that had the last box crashing to the floor.

The jigsaw mural created by Y/N’s after-school art class hung shredded on the wall. Mr. Clarke had been so preoccupied with his cargo that he’d completely overlooked it. But as he observed, his face paled and his stomach turned. Scribbled on the remnants of the mural that weren’t dangling were hateful words and dehumanizing images covering the art that the students had spent weeks perfecting. Mr. Clarke looked around frantically. The entire school building was empty. Whoever had destroyed the mural had done so hours, days, or even weeks earlier. Long gone. 

Shouldering his lunch bag, Scott Clarke hurried to his office. He picked up the phone, fingers flying across the keypad to dial Hawkins' finest. 

Chief Jim Hopper and Officer Powell arrived at Hawkins Middle School moments later. The Blazer had hardly stopped running before the chief hauled through the front doors, Powell trailing behind him.

Mr. Clarke stood beside the torn mural wringing his hands.

"Morning, Chief," he greeted sullenly. "I called as soon as I saw it."

"As a formality, we'll have to ask you a few questions, Scott," Hopper said apologetically.

"Of course, I under--"

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me," swore Powell, having just caught up to Hopper's long strides.

Hopper glanced at Calvin in surprise. He didn't talk much and he swore even less. Jim followed his partner's gaze, taking in the remnants of the mural for the first time.

"Fuck."

Hopper and Powell drove to the station in silence. Mr. Clarke drove his own car behind them. They arrived at the police station shortly after. The three men made their way into Hopper's office, immediately shutting the door behind them. Flo, sensing the dramatic shift in Jim's already gruff mood bustled in with coffee and a tin of Christmas cookies.

"Thanks, Flo," Hopper mumbled, rubbing his temples. What a way to start the morning.

"Alright, Scott. Tell me everything you know. You're not a suspect, but you're likely the first on the scene," he said, once Flo left.

"Right. I went to the school early to prepare for the semester. I've got lots of different lessons and experiments planned for class and the AV club. So, I wanted to get things in order before the kids come back."

Powell sat silently, not touching his coffee. Hopper nodded for the teacher to continue, scribbling a few notes on the Steno pad in front of him.

"I was so busy arranging all my boxes and things that I hadn't even stopped to look at the new mural. It wasn't until my third or fourth trip back in that I saw it."

"And what do you know about this art project? Who was involved in making it? How long has it been up? Anything you can tell us is helpful." Hopper asked.

"As far as I know, it's part of the after-school classes that Y/N has been teaching. M--"

"Y/N Y/L/N?" Powell interrupted.

"You know her?" from Hopper.

"Her folks and I go way back. Her father and I were in the same graduating class. He works in computer science. Her mother home-schools her. Believes in 'experiential' education."

Hopper nodded in recognition. They were good people. Always lending a helping hand around Hawkins. He motioned for Mr. Clarke to continue.

"The art class started in September and ended before Winter Break. It was just once a week, after school. Some of my AV kids were part of it, Dustin Henderson and Maxine Mayfield. I'm sure they convinced some of their friends to join too."

"Mayfield?" Hopper repeated, looking up. "She's that Billy-kid's sister, right?"

Mr. Clarke nodded. 

"They're new in town, " Powell added. "Father and son have a reputation."

Hopper raised a brow. That might warrant a visit.

"All that shit written on the mural...I think it may constitute a hate crime," Hopper mused. "What was the subject of the mural, Scott? Do you know?"

The teacher shrugged. 

"I think it's just whatever the kids wanted to draw the most."

Hopper sighed.

"Thank you, Scott. You've been a great help."

"What will you do with the artwork?" Mr. Clarke asked as the three men rose to stand.

"We'll take it down and bring it in. It's evidence," Hopper sighed. 

For the rest of the morning, Officer Callahan pieced together the remnants of the mural. Hopper and Powell returned to the school to search the trash bins were discarded markers and spray paint cans to dust for fingerprints. The school didn't have any security cameras, so forensic evidence was all they had to go on.

As expected of a small town, word spread fast. Any remnants of faux holiday jolliness quickly evaporated. That very day, news of the vandalized mural reached nearly everyone's ears. Parents were horrified; students were heartbroken. Y/N was crushed. The mural had been the effort of many, but this event felt especially personal. Hopper called her in to the station that afternoon, when Callahan had put the pieces back together.

Y/N came in with her mother. Seeing her in her pastel sweater and legwarmers, walking in with her mom, Hopper was reminded of the youth of everyone affected. Hopper knew almost better than anyone how unsafe the world could be for children. Hawkins was supposed to be the exception. 

"Have a seat," Hopper instructed gently as they reached his office. "Can I get you anything? Flo made some cookies and hot chocolate, if you'd like some."

"No, thank you," Y/N breathed. She sniffled. Her eyes and the tip of her nose were red, likely not from the cold. Y/N's mother rubbed her daughter's back soothingly.

"We just want to know who did this."

Hopper leaned forward in his chair, a determined look painting his features.

"I can assure you, Mrs. L/N, we'll get to the bottom of this. I'm sure you know I'll have to ask Y/N a few questions. Try to figure out our perp's motive."

She nodded.

"Of course," she said, turning to her daughter. "Will you be alright, sweetheart? I'll be right outside if you need me."

"I'll be ok," she said, smiling sadly. "It's just a few questions."

Assured, Y/N's mother went to sit in the waiting room.

"I'm sorry the first time we're meeting has to be for this. Powell's told me a lot about you," Hopper began.

Y/N smiled bashfully.

"I've known him my whole life. He's like family," she replied.

"He's a good man. But, unfortunately, we're not here to talk about our families. Judging by what was written on the mural, you seem to be the main target of the vandalism.”

Y/N's eyebrows rose and her stomach dropped.

"Me? I don't--I don't know anyone who would want to hurt me," she mumbled, her throat feeling thick.

"No enemies? Bullies? Maybe a kid upset they didn't get into your class?" Hopper tried.

Y/N shook her head.

"Every student was welcome to join the class. There wasn't any sort of application or anything. Just show up."

"Anyone start the class but stop showing up?" Hopper asked.

"A couple students," Y/N replied with a shrug. "They were there 'cause their parents made them come. They just sat in the back and played paper football.

Hopper scribbled a few notes on the pad.

"And that mural. What was the subject?"

"It was just a chance for students to pick their favorite medium."

Hopper motioned for her to explain.

"Like, their favorite method. Pencil, watercolor, or whatever. For the subject, they could create anything they wanted," she continued.

"Anyone draw anything inappropriate?" Hopper asked.

Y/N shook her head.

"I've been told Will Byers, Dustin Henderson, and Max Mayfield were all in your class. They ever give you any trouble?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh.

"Those three? Never. Will started the class right at the end during the last lesson. Dustin's a sweetheart; Max is a star student." she said with a smile.

"Is she now?" Hopper wondered, taking deep sip of coffee. "You ever cross paths with her brother, Billy Hargrove?"

Y/N fiddled with a stray thread of her sweater. She looked down at her lap.

"Not really," she replied.

_Now we're getting somewhere_, Hopper thought.

"Never ever?" he pressed.

Y/N looked up. She knew she had to be honest. But Hopper's questions were starting to give her a bad feeling.

"I saw him once or twice when he'd come to pick her up after school. He didn't like for her to hang around while me and Dustin cleaned up. Always in a hurry."

"Max is your star student and you only saw her brother once or twice?" He tented his fingers across his face, brow lowered.

"I ran into him once at Melvald's," she said, fidgeting, "And twice a week, every week over Winter Break."

Hopper leaned back in his chair in mild surprise.

"He your boyfriend?" he asked.

Y/N's mouth opened in shock.

"Oh, no! No, he's not. He's not even my friend! I've been--I was helping Max with an extra credit project during break. He was there half the time," Y/N rushed.

"He was _where_ most of the time?"

"At home," Y/N said nonchalantly. "They don't live too far from me and it's not like Max can drive to me. So, I just came to her. Saved everyone the trouble."

"And you didn't think to meet at a library or something?"

"Max can't drive," Y/N repeated.

"Right."

"Plus, Mrs. Hargrove is super sweet. She makes these mini bagel pizza snacks with mozzarella cheese and homemade tomato sauce."

"Right." Hopper took some more notes. Maybe this wasn't a lead after all. 

"Was Mr. Hargrove ever home? You ever meet him?" Hopper pressed.

Y/N bit her lip.

"A few times..." She mumbled. "He's not the nicest guy. Didn't seem to like having me around."

Hopper jotted something else on his notepad.

"But he was fine with you going over there?"

She shrugged.

"He's really big on good grades. Plus, it seemed to make Mrs. Hargrove really happy so..."

"So, he dealt with it," Hopper finished for her.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding.

"And there's no one you can think of that might have done this?" he asked.

Y/N shook her head.

"Alright," he sighed, standing from his desk. "You've been a great help, Ms. Y/L/N. Try to enjoy the rest of your break, ok?"

Y/N gave a small smile. _Not like things can get any worse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting a good idea of where this is going! It’s not finished, but will probably be around 10 or so chapters


	4. too many questions, not enough answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions don't always lead to answers. Interrogation doesn't always lead to a suspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a giant THANK YOU to everyone who has read this far. a super mega giant THANK YOU to everyone who commented or left kudos!

The mural vandalism had put a real damper on the Hawkins holiday spirit. The town had its fair share of graffiti on alleyway walls and payphone stalls, but never anything like this. Even worse, Hawkins police were no closer to closing the case. It would be weeks before results from the fingerprint analysis would come in. In the meantime, Neil and Billy Hargrove were brought into the station for questioning. Neil had been furious when he'd gotten the phone call from the station. He had been sure to tell the caller exactly what was on his mind. Hopper, who had placed the call, had to use all of his restraint not to retaliate against all the obscenities that Mr. Hargrove had hurled at him. 

The next day, Neil and Billy Hargrove sat in Hopper's office, sitting side by side. Despite his bristled behavior over the phone, Mr. Hargrove presented as clean-shaven and suburban. When he'd arrived there that morning, he'd brought with him a saccharine smile and a plate of his wife's lemon bars. A family recipe, he'd said. Hopper had politely (for him, at least) declined, taking in the curious sight of Billy Hargrove in a sweater vest and corduroys. Any stranger who had seen would have thought them the perfect father-son duo. Jim knew better.

"I'm sure you know why you all are here today, Mr. Hargrove," Hopper began.

"Please, call me Neil," he interrupted. "And, no, I can't say I do, Chief Hopper. Something about a vandalism."

"Jim," he corrected. "On December 26th, the after-school art class mural was vandalized at Hawkins Middle School with offensive images and racial epithets."

Neil shifted straighter in his chair next to an apathetic Billy. He suddenly seemed much taller, much more imposing.

"And you suspect my son?" with voice low.

Jim mirrored Neil's posture. He sat taller, drew back his shoulders, and folded his hands across his face.

"Due to your son's reputation and proximity to the presumed target of the attack, he is considered our primary suspect."

Neil fumed. His neck and face reddened. A vein in his jaw spasmed.

“And just who is this _presumed target _that my boy is so close to? From what I’ve heard through the grapevine, no specific person’s name was mentioned in the vandalism. And if no one person was specified, how can you assume that _my son_ has anything to do with this?”

Billy struggled to keep his countenance neutral. His fists clenched against his knees as he sank an iota lower in his chair. The target was Y/N Y/L/N. Everyone in town knew. What they didn't all know was how often Y/N had been in the Hargrove home. They didn't know how often she'd laughed at Billy's more appropriate jokes. How they'd both pored over Max's project, making small edits and helpful suggestions. He wasn’t going a word about that in front of his father.

“We have our reasons, Neil. Now, this can all be cleared up with after a few questions. It’s not you I need to hear from,” Hopper said firmly.

"Any questions you have for my son, you'll have to ask in front of me. He's a minor. I know my rights."

"I got nothin' to hide," Billy mumbled. He couldn't be honest with his father sitting right next to him.

Neil shot his son an acerbic glare.

"If you think I'm--."

"You're free to sit in the lobby and wait, Mr.Hargrove," Hopper said with a smirk. "Have a cookie and a cup of hot chocolate while you're there."

Neil rose slowly, undoubtedly warring between the decision to leave or stay and make a scene. Although the door and blinds to the office were shut, the walls were likely not soundproof. He had a reputation to maintain. After a beat, he strode to the door with a scowl.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes. You try any funny business and I'll sue your ass, Hopper. You and the whole precinct." Neil Hargrove stalked out of the room, a muttered curse crossing his lips.

Jim sat back in his chair and removed a tape recorder from his desk. He pulled out a newly sharpened pencil and worn Steno pad. After taking a sip of coffee, he pressed "play" on the recorder.

"Go on and state your name and date of birth for me, kid," Jim instructed.

Billy leaned forward.

"William Hargrove. Date of birth, March 17th, 1967,” he recited.

Hopper took another sip of coffee and watched Billy with a calculating gaze. He looked innocent enough in argyle and beige. Sitting there, in front of the wooden desk, undoubtedly immensely uncomfortable. Here, he didn't seem like the raucous teen he'd heard about. He knew all about Billy's conduct around town. Speeding through Hawkins in a teal Camaro, littering town with half-smoked clove cigarettes. The fights, the threats. He even knew about the keg stand a couple months back. No, this kid looked squeaky clean from his head down to his--

_Are those dress shoes?_ He almost laughed. Kid really was trying to look like the boy-next-door.

Hopper toyed between playing Good Cop or Bad Cop. On one hand, any kid that went around giving out bloody noses like Halloween candy might only respond to that same show of aggression. But, on the other hand, the teenager before him hardly looked like he wanted to put up a fight. He'd sunk lower in his chair and continued to stare down at his hands.

"You're known as "Billy", is that correct?" Hopper began.

\- - -

"Yeah, that's right," Billy answered, rubbing his palms down his pant legs. _I shouldn't be this nervous. I don't have anything to do with this shit._

The office suddenly seemed smaller. The air warmer. The building quieter. Billy felt his ears grow hot. His palms continued to sweat.

Hopper broke the deafening silence.

"Where were you on December 27th?" he asked, staring down at his empty coffee mug.

"Home, most of the day," Billy replied, clearing his throat. He wished he had a glass of water or something. "That morning I went to Bradley's with my stepmom. Needed to get some groceries."

"What time did you go to Bradley's Big Buy with Susan Hargrove?"

"Maybe around 9:30am or something," he answered, shrugging.

Hopper raised a brow.

"You didn't want to sleep in? It's Winter Break, isn't it? Weren't tired from all the fun?"

"My dad doesn't let us sleep past 8:30."

Hopper's brow creeped ever closer to the brim of his hat.

"Even on holidays?" he asked.

"Even on holidays." Billy nodded.

"And how 's that make you feel?" Hopper began scribbling notes on his pad.

Billy scoffed.

"What is this, a therapy session?"

"You gonna answer the question or not?"

Billy huffed, trying and failing not to roll his eyes. He didn't see what these questions had to do with the mural or Y/N.

"It's a pain in the ass, I guess. Not much I can do about it."

Hopper grunted. Whether out of disagreement or something else, Billy couldn't tell.

"He that hard on your step-sister too?"

"Nah, not so much."

Hopper nodded, pencil jigging across the paper.

"He like her friends?" Hopper asked.

"He doesn't know much about them. I know he wouldn't be a fan of that Sinclair kid if he met him."

"He like _your_ friends?" Hopper asked.

"He says they're trash. Looks bad that I hang around 'em."

Billy's heart rate calmed a bit. Judging by all the questions Chief Hopper was asking him, it was his father they suspected. That wasn't much better, but at least it wouldn't go on his own record. The office seemed a little bigger. The air a bit cooler. The building no longer so silent. The phone rang in the background. Someone yelled for Flo to let them take the call.

"Does your dad think Y/N is trash?"

"She's not my friend," Billy clipped. He’d practiced that.

Hopper shot Billy a skeptical look.

"She's not your friend but she's comin' over your house twice a week?"

"She's my sister's friend. She was helping her with a project."

"You never talked to her then? She's more your age than your sister's."

"I guess."

Hopper leaned forward, his arms resting in front of him.

"Look, kid. This will be easier on everyone involved the more open and honest you are with me. Anything we discuss in here, stays here. Unless it's a crime. You commit a crime?"

"No, sir."

"Alright! Go on, then. Get honest."

"We talked a few times. Only 'cause she came over so much. Sometimes, I'd sit in there with them while they studied. Susan would cook for them. Stuff she only made when we have company. Which is almost never. I'd grab a couple snacks and listen to Max stumble over Shakespearean English."

"'Parting is such sweet sorrow," began Hopper.

"'That I shall say good night till it be morrow,'" he finished impulsively. "Yeah, she was doing _Romeo and Juliet_," he added, suddenly feeling like a huge nerd.

"You ever spend time with her when Max _wasn't_ involved?"

Billy cleared his throat. His palms began to sweat again. These questions weren't incriminating, but they sure felt like it.

"Uh, yeah. One night, it started to snow but the moon was still real bright. Y/N wanted to give Max some space so she could write. We, uh, drove out to Lookout Point to get some air. Enjoy the view." Billy knew how that must have sounded. Lookout Point was a hook-up spot. It was an overlook surrounded by trees, perfect for teenagers looking for a little privacy.

* * *

Billy drove them. He'd insisted that the Camaro was a much smoother ride than Y/N's hatchback. It didn't take long to get there. Only a little while, just long enough to enjoy three songs on the radio. Billy killed the engine and the headlights. The moon shone so bright that night, that the clearing was perfectly illuminated. They leaned against the hood of the car. The engine had run long enough that the metal was warm to the touch. 

"This view is beautiful," Y/N hummed, her breath puffing white in the cold air. "I can't believe I've never been up here before."

The falling snow sparkled in the moonlight. Thick, heavy flakes that settled steadily all around. Thin ice gleamed in solid rivulets on the tips of tree branches. The secluded precipice seemed like the only part of Hawkins that remained untouched from everything unkind and unclean.

"Yeah, it's...peaceful," Billy agreed. "I come here to get away. Breathe."

Y/N smiled. Snowflakes landed and melted on her hair, the moisture undoing the hours she'd spent straightening it.

"You deal with a lot."

Billy looked at her then. Searching her face for any sign of deceit or derision. 

"Your dad, your step-mom," she continued. "And you're almost raising Max yourself. That's a lot on one person."

Billy shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I don't care. They don't. Why should I?" he muttered.

"But, you do," Y/N contradicted.

Before Billy could interject, she continued.

"You sit with Max when we work on her project. You _help."_

"Susan makes food," he explained.

"It's more than that and you know it. You stay even when you're not eating. And you laugh at all the puns Max put in her story. Even the ones that don't make sense."

"I laugh because they're dumb," he dismissed.

"You call me beforehand to warn me if your dad is gonna be home or not," Y/N challenged.

"I don't want to deal with that any more than you do."

"You make that little smile when--."

"You've been watching me," Billy said, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Why? You see something you like?” Billy leant arm on the car’s hood and leaned closer to Y/N. Even under the layers of his coat, the smell of clove and mint drifted in the air with the falling snow.

Y/N kissed her teeth and crossed her arms.

“Don’t try that with me, Hargrove,” she snapped with the hint of a smile.

“Harsh!” he laughed. “Try what exactly?”

“Don’t try to distract me with your charm while we’re talking about something serious.”

Billy’s smirk grew into a toothy grin.

“So, I’m charming?” He leaned in closer. In the light of the moon, Y/N’s dark eyes were cast in a silvery-blue. He wondered how they looked in the warm sun. Not that it mattered, though. He was simply curious.

“No,” Y/N said defiantly. “You’re a pompous flirt.”

“Ouch! What a blow to the ego,” he chuckled.

Y/N rolled her eyes. She strode toward the passenger side and started to get into the car.

“You’ll live. Now, let’s go. I’m sure Max has a few more paragraphs for us to look over.”

* * *

Billy smiled at the memory. It had been the first time he’d seen that side of Y/N. Something other than syrupy sweet and kind. There was a fire in there somewhere. It seemed to only show up when he was around.

Hopper gave Billy a knowing smirk.

“Lookout Point, huh? I guess you two aren’t 'just friends'.”

Billy scowled. Hopper didn’t understand. There was nothing between them. Not really. Certainly not anything like that. He wouldn’t treat Y/N that way if he had the chance. Not like she’d give him one. Not that he wanted one.

“Y/N ever mention anyone bothering her? Someone she didn’t get along with, maybe?” Hopper changed the subject.

Billy racked his brain for anything that might help. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a single person with a problem with Y/N. She more or less kept to herself when she wasn’t out serving the community. She had a few close friends, but they were just as upstanding as she was.

“Nah, she’s Hawkins’ sweetheart. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Hopper put down his pencil. With a sigh, he ran a hand over his beard. For a moment, he simply looked at Billy. No doubt gauging his sincerity during questioning. Wondering if there was something, anything that he knew to help solve this case.

Billy shifted under his gaze. He wasn’t the vandal, but the weight of Hopper’s stare made him feel like he had something to confess.

“Alright, kid. You’re free to go. Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything, you give me a call,” he declared.

\---

In the car ride home and the hours after, Neil Hargrove asked Billy more questions than Jim Hopper had. He demanded that Billy tell him every question Hopper had asked and exactly how he’d answered it. Billy evaded his father’s inquiries. To answer with the full truth meant admitting to wrongdoing. At least, in his father’s eyes. Any semblance of a friendship with Y/N would lead to hurtful consequences. Of course, Max was an exception. She was the youngest, the step-daughter. She got away with so much more. But, if Billy was truthful about the careful acquaintanceship that he had formed with Y/N, even Max might not be safe from Neil Hargrove’s temper. So, instead, Billy dodged the truth. He had learned how to do so early as a form of self-preservation. He gracefully weaved between honesty and false implications. He denied when he could and confessed nothing. Eventually, Neil was satisfied with his son’s answers. He was assured that whatever had been said behind that closed office door had been just as good as anything he would have told Jim himself.

That night, Billy lay in bed feeling just a little relieved. Sure, the jerk who destroyed the mural was still at large. But for now, Billy was safe from any legal or paternal repercussions. Still, as he stared up at his bedroom ceiling, he couldn’t help but feel that Y/N likely didn’t have that same peace of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo i'm thinking this will be closer to 12 chapters? i haven't finished it yet. i started writing chapter 6. it will be canon-adjacent so this might push a little longer than i expected. can't fit this whole piece into 10 chapters. that's for sure. let me know! should it go on longer? who do you think destroyed the mural and why?


	5. no time for staying home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The New Year doesn't start off well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: allusions to assault, teenage drinking, a few swear words here and there, mentions of blood and mild injuries, no graphic violence

In hardly any time at all, the buzz from the school mural died down. After all, it was still the holiday season. Christmas trees were still up, and snow was nowhere near melting. The new year was right around the corner. The fingerprints gathered at the scene were not match to anything in the system. Hawkins Police Department had suspected as much. The vandal was unlikely a felon or convict. A few more suspects were questioned, but no arrests were made. The case quickly grew cold. Replaced with the chatter of petty crimes and possible suspects was the talk of resolutions and ways to make the coming year just a little better than the year that preceded. Aside from the vandalism and a false-alarm home break-in, the Hawkins holiday season was going by fairly tamely. All that was left was to ring in 1986 without any disasters. Hawksinians everywhere had their fingers crossed. 

While adults were planning New Year's parties filled with hors d'oeuvres and their best champagne glasses, teenagers were (secretly) planning similarly. Of course, Max and her group of friends were keeping things tame with the plan of a night of popcorn and rented VHS tapes. The older kids, however, had their sights on something more legendary. Quite coincidentally, Heather Holloway's father was presenting at a journalism conference in Indianapolis. Her mother had decided to join him for a change of scenery. Heather, her parents believed, was wonderfully mature and more than capable of taking care of herself at home for a few weeks.

The same day the Holloways' plane touched down in the city, Heather was getting ready to throw the most epic New Year's house party Hawkins had ever seen. She recruited a few friends from cheerleading as well as Tommy, Carol, and Nicole to help her out. Her cheer squad friends, Bethany and Michelle, were in charge of music and decor. It was their job to make the mix tapes for the party and get plenty of streamers and party hats from Melvalds. Nicole's responsibility was to get extra snacks. Heather gave her a thorough list of things to get from Bradley's Big Buy. Tommy and Carol, who hardly went anywhere without each other, were delegating the task of procuring the alcohol. That was arguably the most important endeavor for the entire event. The plan was to raid the Holloway stash for champagne and purchase the more plebeian beverages from the local liquor store. The latter would doubtlessly be the more challenging feat.

Everyone in Heather’s social circle was invited. Feeling ever generous, she had invited the near entirety of the Hawkins High School student body. Naturally, that invite list included Billy Hargrove. As the reigning Keg King, it was expected that he be in attendance.

Just as gossip spread quickly among adults, even faster did it disseminate among the younger citizens of Hawkins. And despite not being part of Heather’s closest circle of friends, Y/N heard word of the party the day it was announced. Being the studious bibliophile she was, she had never been to a house party before. Certainly not one of this magnitude. Of course, she had attended parent-approved birthday celebrations and family gatherings. But, of this, she was curious. Her only challenges were to find the right outfit and to convince her parents to let her go.

_I’m sure I can talk them into it,_ she thought. Considering, she never got into any trouble. Not even a speeding ticket. Her grades were nearly perfect. And the one time she had missed curfew, she had been helping a friend. It would be an easy sell. At least, she hoped so.

Y/N decided to breech the topic over the dinner table. Her parents would be distracted by food and their thoughts of the day that was coming to a close. She couldn’t think of a more opportune time.

She paused for a moment as the pushed sweet potato around on her plate. _What if they say ‘no’? _This was the one event that nearly every single one of her peers would be experiencing. She deserved to go too. _Right?_

She took a calming breath. 

"So, there's this New Year's party tomorrow night. It's at Heather Holloway's house," she began. 

Neither one of her parents looked up. Her mother was busy buttering a piece of bread. Her father was engrossed in the sports section of the day's newspaper. 

"Michelle and Bethany will be there," she added.

"That's nice, honey," her mother replied, taking a bite of her food.

The table was silent for a moment. Y/N expected her parents to say something else. Anything. Especially, _yes honey you should go it will be a wonderful time have fun_. Rather, she was met with her parents disinterested quiet.

"Can I go, please? It's right around the corner. And I'll know some people there. I'll even leave early, before the ball drops. Please I--."

"No," Her father gruffed from behind his paper. He hadn't even looked up. Hadn't let her finish her pitch. She was going to tell them that she would drive there so she didn't have to wait on a ride. She was going to say that she'd be sure to verify that parents would be there to chaperone. She was going to tell them that it was probably more than safe. He didn't let her finish.

"It won't be--," she tried again.

The newspaper was quickly folded. Her eyes met the stern gaze of her father.

"The answer is no."

Y/N's mother placed a hand on her husband's arm.

"What your father is trying to say is that we've heard about the party. We just don't think it's an activity that you should be participating in. Especially after what they did to your students' artwork. The awful things they wrote. Now isn't the best time. And you know those parties are just a way for kids to get their hands on drugs and alcohol."

Y/N's dad cleared his throat, readying his voice for a paternal lecture. 

"You don't have to tell her the story again, Michael. She's heard it half a dozen times before."

"If she knew, she wouldn't have asked. You're not goin' to that party. End of discussion,” her father declared.

Y/N's face burned hot. Her throat constricted. It wasn't fair. This felt like a punishment for trespasses she didn't commit. Of course, she knew what her dad was referring to. She'd heard it well over half a dozen times before.

Her father had moved to Hawkins as a teen. A new kid in town who looked different than nearly everyone there. Except for Calvin Powell. He'd taken him under his wing. Stood up for him when their classmates had a go at him. Despite the times, Calvin Powell was well-respected by everyone. After all, he was the star quarterback for Hawkins High and all-around Golden Boy. But even with Powell's protection, Michael had dealt with more than his fair share of harassment. He didn't want the same for his daughter. After the events just a few days before, however, it seemed inevitable.

"It's not the sixties anymore! It's almost--."

"I know very well what year it is, Y/N," her father interrupted. “Times haven’t changed _that_ much. You know what I experienced just in the neighborhood and the classroom. Now, imagine that at some alcohol-fueled house party! You’re not going.”

Y/N’s mother took a small sip from her glass. She cleared her throat softly before speaking.

“You can go to the party, sweetheart.”

“Janine, are you out of your mind?” Her father bellowed.

“Listen, our daughter is right. Things are a little different now,” her mom began.

Y/N grinned. She knew she’d be the voice of reason.

“And your father is right. Parties like this are trouble. Kids make bad decisions. Especially if there isn’t proper supervision. But you have always made us very proud. You’ve always made the right choices. I believe that we can trust you to continue that at this party tomorrow.”

"Janine--," her father began.

"No, Michael. Listen. She's almost eighteen. And we know we can trust her," her mother interrupted. She turned to look her in the eye. "We're lifting your curfew for tomorrow night. Have fun. See your friends. Make good choices, like you always do. All we ask is that you check in from time to time. Call us when you get there. Call us when you're leaving. Call us if you need us."

Y/N's father sat scowling. It was rare that her parents disagreed on anything. And this matter, one her father felt so strongly about, went differently than she expected. Her parents gave her total freedom to just be a teenager. She was going to enjoy every second of it

Her parents had always been the helicopter-type. Overprotective. Immensely suspicious. Consistently concerned. She never played any sports because her mother was worried about concussions and broken bones. She had never gone to public, or even private, school because her parents didn't trust a curriculum they didn't have a say in. Her friends were only girls that her parents approved of and had met before. She wasn't permitted to date until she turned twenty. Going to a New Year's house party? Unheard of. 

The next morning, Y/N decided to get an early start. She drove to Starcourt Mall as soon as it opened in order to find the perfect outfit for the party. She had a few things in her closet. But none of them seemed enough to ring in the new year. 

Walking through the front doors, she immediately spotted her friend, Robin Buckley, sitting in the food court. Feet on the table. Headphones over her ears. Y/N waved and skipped over to her.

"Thanks for meeting me here so early. I know you'd rather be sleeping in today," Y/N said apologetically.

Robin waved her hand dismissively and pulled her headphones to her neck.

"It's whatever. I didn't have anything more exciting planned. What I don't get, though, is why your parents are suddenly cool with this. Aren't they, like, super controlling, anti-fun, weirdos?"

Y/N rolled her eyes and smiled sheepishly.

"They're not _that_ bad. They just have a very long list of concerns about everything in my life. It's fine. I'm just glad they're letting me go," Y/N replied with a shrug.

"Are they from a cult or something? Didn't you say once that you're only allowed _approved _books and music in the house?" 

"That's not weird! Plenty of parents have rules about what their kids can watch and listen to!"

"You're right. It's not weird. It's _mega_-weird. My parents have been letting me read Stephen King since I was ten. And I listen to whatever I want to."

"Everyone's different, I guess," Y/N resolved.

"You can say that again," Robin said with a smirk. "Now, let's go find an outfit that your parents _won't_ approve of.

They spent four hours in the mall going from store to store, from The Gap to Claire's and everywhere in between. They both tried on puff sleeves dresses, cowl-neck sweaters, and beaded skirts.

"That looks so good on you, Robin!" Y/N exclaimed. "You should come tonight!"

Robin posed dramatically in the changing room mirror, wearing an embroidered denim jumpsuit.

"Nope. No way. Not my scene," she refused, pulling her hair into a messy bun. "I'd rather lick this floor than suffer through Heather Holloway and her airhead friends.

"Oh, come on! We could wear matching outfits!" Y/N needled, zipping up a dress. 

"Absolutely not," She shot down. "I'd rather chug New Coke from a rusty can."

Y/N burst into a fit of laughter.

"Point well taken," she giggled.

A few shopping bags later, they sat down in the food court with Wendy's Frostys and fries.

"Hey, um," Robin began. "How are you holdin' up after the whole mural thing? I heard they still don't know who did it.

"I'm fine," Y/N quipped, dipping a French fry into her ice cream.

"Well, I know that's not true. Be honest." Robin reached out to squeeze her friend's hand. "You know I'm here for you."

Y/N's throat began to feel thick. Her eyes reddened with encroaching tears.

"I just want to know _why_? Like--," she sniffed. "Why are people so mean? I didn't do anything to anyone. But...it's not just about me. The students, too. They worked so hard on that project. What did that person have to gain by doing that? Writing all those awful things. What for?"

Robin slid into the seat next to Y/N and pulled her into a tight hug.

"I don't know who did this. But, when we find out, we're gonna kick their ass."

\- - - 

Robin came over to Y/N's house later that day to help her get ready for the party. Their shopping trip had been a successful one. Now, all that was left to figure out was hair and makeup.

"You should totally do eye makeup. Lipstick is only gonna get smudged and whatever. Blush will be cute, too," Robin advised.

Y/N nodded, biting her lip nervously.

"Maybe I shouldn't go," she blurted.

"What?" Robin jumped up from her seat. "We just spent the entire morning at the mall and now you don't want to go?"

"I mean, I _want_ to. But what if it's like my parents think it's gonna be? Lots of alcohol and bad decisions."

"Oh, it will be. It's Heather we're talking about her. Her parents let her do whatever she wants. And they won't even be there."

"What?" Y/N whirled around, mouth agape. "Who's chaperoning?"

Robin snorted laughter.

"It's a house party. There is no chaperone. That's the whole point. And there's gonna be tons of alcohol. Heather's parents have a wine cellar."

Y/N sat down on the floor and stared blankly ahead.

"Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. I can't go. No way." She shook her head.

"It will still be fun, I'm sure. And some of your friends are gonna be there. Go! Eat some food; dance a little bit. Ring in the New Year with the preps and then come home knowing you made holy, wholesome choices or whatever your parents say."

"Girls!" Y/N's mother called from downstairs. "I made Nesquick!"

"Thank you!" they replied in unison.

Robin turned back to her friend's stricken face.

"Look, if you don't go, you'll regret it," she predicted.

"Or, if I go, I'll regret it," Y/N argued.

"So, regret is inevitable! Might as well get some fun out of it."

Y/N grinned.

"You're a bad influence," she chided.

"I'm the _best _influence."

One Whitney Houston cassette tape later, Y/N was dressed. They'd decided on a white embroidered blouse and pink ra-ra skirt. Accessories included matching ruffle socks and a pink scrunchie. For hair, Y/N decided that a ponytail would have to do. Anything else was too time-consuming. Makeup was left to Robin who had insisted on eyeliner and shimmery eyeshadow. The air was heavy with Farrah Fawcett Ultra Holding Hair Spray. The floor was scattered with bobby pins and cotton swabs. Fingertips were stained with waterproof mascara and rose-tinted blush. Robin stepped back to admire her work. With a damp cotton pad, she fixed stray pigment and smudged eyeliner.

"Perfection," she breathed.

"You think so? Is it too much?" Y/N questioned.

"The only way it would be too much would be if you wore a metallic gold sweater dress painted with the New York City skyline, gogo boots, and confetti in your hair," Robin assured.

"That is quite specific. Is that what you were gonna wear?" 

"Oh, most definitely," she answered sardonically. "I just couldn't find a matching cardigan.

Y/N's laughter rose and retreated like an ocean wave. She felt a swell of gratitude. Robin was always a steady presence in her life. They'd met as children, both taking classical music lessons. Y/N had been quiet and shy during the first few classes. She was so nervous that she kept making silly mistakes when she played. It was Robin who had been there to ease her nerves with a witty joke and a bright smile. Music had brought them together, but trust and affection made the friendship last.

“Thanks, Rob. For everything. And not just the makeover,” Y/N stated, heartfelt.

Robin simply shrugged, understanding all the words Y/N didn’t say.

“That’s what best friends are for.

\---

It seemed like all of Hawkins was at Heather’s party that night. Y/N had to park two blocks away just to find a decent space. As she got out of her car, she was grateful that she’d worn both tights and ruffle socks. Even in her winter coat, she was visibly shivering by the time she got to the front door of the Holloway home. She knocked hurriedly, afraid she’d lose feeling in her fingertips before she got into the warmth. When no one answered, she rang the doorbell. No response.

_This would be the perfect time to go back home. No one would even know I was here. Or wasn’t—_

The front door swung open. Y/N was met with a familiar face.

“Michelle!” she exclaimed, scurrying into the well-heated home.

“You came!” her friend returned her excitement. She pulled her into a tight hug, sending warmth into her friend’s near-numb limbs. “Let me take your coat.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest.

“You’ll warm up quick!” Michelle interrupted. “You have to show off that cute outfit!

“How on earth did you convince your parents to let you come? This is, like, totally against everything they stand for.”

“It’s just a party, isn’t it? They’re ok with those.” Y/N answered candidly.

“Oh, hun,” Michelle sighed, taking her friend’s coat. “Sometimes I forget just how naive you are.”

Y/N fell silent, confused by her friend’s statement. But, as they ventured further into the house, Y/N began to understand just what Michelle meant.

The party had only started an hour or so before. Nevertheless, dozens of beer bottles and red plastic cups littered counter and tabletops. A trough of a punch bowl sat on the dining room table. It looked like fruit punch, but Y/N had a feeling there was more to it then that. In the large living room countless peers swayed their bodies in time to the music that seemed to reverberate from every corner of the room. And handful of others sat entangled on couches and loveseats, getting an early start to the tradition of a New Year’s kiss.

“Look who I found!” Michelle paraded Y/N to a group circled in the kitchen.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Carol said, tilting up her chin. “I didn’t think this was your thing.”

Y/N laughed awkwardly, feeling very much in the spotlight.

“It’s not,” she explained. “I’m trying to…branch out.”

_Gosh, that sounds so lame._

“Right,” Carol said, smirking. She walked away to the punch bowl, glaringly uninterested.

“Uh, thanks for having me over, Heather,” Y/N said shyly. She fiddled with the scrunchie on her wrist. This was way out of her comfort zone.

“Of course,” the brunette replied with a smile. “It’s good to have you.

“Has anyone heard from Billy? He never misses a party,” Heather asked.

Y/N felt heat rise to her face. She hadn’t about that. The thought of seeing Billy at the party made her stomach flip. Here, she was so out of her element. And they weren’t even really friends. She wouldn’t know how to act if she saw him. Being seen with her probably wouldn’t help his Bad Boy™ reputation.

“Haven’t seen him,” replied someone among the throng.

“He’s probably got a hot date. Ya know, start the year off with a bang, if you know what I mean,” another joked crassly.

A sigh of relief. She would have almost definitely embarrassed herself on front of Billy if he’d shown up. Not that it mattered, though. His opinion wasn’t important. Not much anyway. Y/N excused herself from the group to find a phone and a quiet room. Eventually, she found both in the home office. She dialed the familiar number quickly.

“Hello?” greeted her mother’s voice through the phone.

“Hey, mom.”

“Honey! How’s the party? See any friends there?”

Y/N twirled the phone cord around her fingers. She knew what her mother was _really _asking. She wanted to know if there was alcohol, drugs, or troublemakers.

“It’s alright. Michelle is here. It’s a little less, uh, tame then I thought it would be. I don’t think I’ll stay long.”

“Alright, sweetie. We’ll be home when you come back. Remember, no curfew tonight. Have a good time, ok?”

“Sure thing. Love you, mom,” Y/N hurried. Michelle was probably wondering where she was.

“Love you, too. See you later.”

Y/N found Michelle by the chips and salsa.

“You wanna dance?” she asked, licking tomato from her fingertips.

(Recommended listening – “Rhythm of the Night” by DeBarge)

“What?” Y/N asked. “I don’t—I don’t know how to dance to this.”

“Girl, are you for real? This is DeBarge!” Michelle grabbed her hand. “C’mon, just do what I do.”

Y/N stumbled behind her friend to the dance floor, which was simply the middle of the living room. Furniture and knickknacks had been pushed against the wall to make room for those pulled there by the music.

Michelle swayed to the music, mouthing along to the words. She looked carefree, uncaring of who watched her move to the beat.

“Now, follow my lead!” She yelled over the music.

Y/N mirrored her friend’s movements. The song was easy enough to follow. The dancing was simple too. Michelle just seemed to move her hips and arms around. Easy enough, right?

“You’re a natural! I didn’t know they taught dance lessons at Girl Scouts!” Michelle joked.

Y/N laughed, loud and free. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Fortunately for her nerves, Y/N spotted a few more friends. They went back and forth from the dancefloor to the kitchen to the snack table. Hours flew by like minutes when Heather announced that the new year was only ten minutes away.

“Everybody grab a hat and a noisemaker! If you brought a date, grab them too!”

Dozens scrambled to adorn themselves with paper hats and glittery sunglasses. Solo cups were refilled in preparation for the New Year’s toast. Confetti was sprinkled into overly sprayed hair. Heather turned on the TV and picked up her Polaroid to snap pictures of the last few moments of 1985. In the chaos, Y/N lost sight of her friends. She didn’t mind. She’d find them soon enough. Once the ball dropped, Y/N would say her goodbyes and head home. The night had hurried along. The minutes continued to tick away. Y/N went back into the home office to call her parents, tell them she’d be home soon.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind. Tommy Haynes sauntered up to Y/N with a crooked grin and a cup of something that wasn’t soda. “You wanna give me my kiss for the New Year?”

Y/N cringed. Tommy was another Hawkins guy with an awful reputation. Everyone knew he was a bully. And a creep.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend? I’m sure she’s looking for you.” Y/N made to pick up the phone. Tommy’s heavy hand stopped her.

“Would you kiss me if I was single?” He licked his lips.

“No. Go find Carol,” she said firmly. She was trying to be nice, but something about Tommy was making her stomach churn.

“Nah. Carol is great but you’re _different_,” Tommy breathed, blowing the scent of Kool Aid and grain alcohol straight into Y/N’s face.

“I’m sure Carol, your _girlfriend_, really appreciates that. Now, will you _please_\--.”

In the living room, the countdown began.

Ten!

Tommy pushed Y/N against the desk, knocking papers onto the floor.

Nine!

“All I want is a kiss, Y/N. Is that so much to ask?” he drawled.

Eight!

Tommy set down his cup and fisted Y/N's blouse with both hands. Y/N struggled against him.

Seven!

“Tommy, get off me! You’re drunk!” She pushed her weight against him.

Six!

“Don’t be a prude. Every guy deserves a little something sweet to ring in the New Year,” he sneered.

Five!

“Let me go or I’ll scream!” Y/N felt tears prink the corners of her eyes. _Why is he so strong?_

Four!

“No one will hear you,” he taunted.

Three!

“You think you’re so great, huh? So special and so pure,” he slurred.

Two!

“But you’re nothing. Just an ass and a pair of tits,” he went on.

One!

“No matter what you do, you’re still a n--.”

Happy New Year!

\---

Billy sauntered out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. Steam drifted from the shower into the hall after him. Water dripped from his hair into his face and onto his shoulders. He messily shook it out during his short walk to his room. As he passed the mirror in his bedroom, he gave his reflection a wink.

This particular night, he had the place to himself. Max was at a sleepover with one of her loser friends. His dad and stepmom were out of town for a few days for a holiday trip. There was a house party down the block, hosted by Heather Holloway. Her parents were loaded, and it was sure to be a good time. People had been talking about it all week. But he wasn’t feeling it. It was almost a shame he didn’t have a date tonight. He knew that could change with just a phone call. He had options. But not tonight.

Tonight, he would enjoy his own company. He turned up the volume on his boom box, hard rock vibrating through the speakers. He threw on a pair of boxers and climbed into bed, lights on. Reaching under his mattress, he pulled out his entertainment for the night: the March 1985 issue of Playboy. A birthday gift he’d bought for himself. He flipped past the articles to the good stuff. Just as Billy sank further under the sheets, his moment was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

“Mormons going door-to-door after midnight?” he mumbled. They’d go away eventually.

Billy continued flipping through the magazine, looking for the picture that was just right. His search was interrupted this time by the sound of banging on the door. The staccato of palm and knuckle reverberated through the empty house. So much for a night to himself.

Billy threw back his bedcovers and hurriedly pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants. A dark scowl was making its way onto his face. He stomped to the front door and wrenched it open.

“What the hell do you want?” a phrase that didn’t make it past his lips as he took in the figure shaking under the porchlight.

Y/N stood shivering before him. Tonight, she wasn’t her usual, radiant self. She must have been at the party. Or at least dressed to go. Both her socks and white pumps were splattered with mud. Her pastel tiered skirt was ripped and stained with something hematic. Her white blouse was even worse. It was stained and torn at the collar. The few remaining buttons hung by meager threads. Her bright makeup was streaked down her face with blood and tears. Her wide brown eyes seemed to struggle to focus on his. They were glassy and swollen. She was dazed, swaying on her feet hauntingly.

“Y/N, what happened to you?” Billy questioned, taking a step forward.

“…didn’t know where else to go…” she whispered. Her eyes rolled backward as she crumpled into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all who are following this story! this chapter took a little longer to upload as i had a few other projects in the works. let me know your thoughts!


	6. just a little care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of the party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning! this chapter contains violence and attempted sexual assault. please use your judgement as to whether this content is suitable for your viewing. it is detailed, but not graphic.

“Oh, shit,” Billy swore. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

For a moment, Billy was frozen where he stood, the weight of Y/N’s unconscious body in his arms. He looked around frantically. There was no one else in sight. He still didn’t know his neighbors well enough to go to them for help.

_Shit._

Billy lifted Y/N to his chest and carried her inside, shutting the door behind him with his foot. Now came the issue of where to lay her down. His room was, well, his _room_. He couldn’t put her there. Not when he’d been right about to…yeah. His parent’s room was off-limits. His dad always knew when something was missing or out of place. He could put her in Max’s room. But it was a mess in there. The living room would have to do. 

He laid her gingerly on the sofa. He paced the floor in a frenzy. She was still unconscious. He lifted her wrist to check for a pulse. It was strong. But her skin was so cold to the touch. He had to warm her up somehow. He needed blankets. He hurried to the closet for a large quilt. When he returned, Billy remembered the awful state that Y/N’s clothes were in. She wouldn’t be warm in a ripped shirt. But she was still out cold. She couldn’t dress herself.

_Shit._

He had to think for a second. He ran a hand through his damp hair. This was bad. So bad. He had no idea what had happened to her. Was she sick? Had she been drinking? Or drugged?

_Focus. She needs clothes._

Billy hurried to his and grabbed an old sweatshirt, basketball shorts, and socks for Y/N. He haphazardly tugged a shirt over his head as he rushed back to her side. He began with her mud-caked shoes and socks.

_Did she walk here?_

He gingerly removed them and set them on the floor. He replaced them with a pair of thick wool socks. Next, was her skirt? It was torn and stained. However, Billy couldn’t bring himself to remove it. Even if it was to supplant it with something clean and dry. Her blouse, though, had to go. It was practically shredded anyway. With trembling hands, he undid the surviving buttons.

_Please don’t wake up. Ok, wake up. But not right this second. God, this looks so bad. Shit._

Billy folded the ripped shirt as neatly as he could and placed it atop her shoes. Now came the hard part: getting the sweatshirt on her. Billy sat on the sofa next to Y/N’s prone form. He sat her up so that her head rested on his chest. With his hands free, he gingerly pulled the top over her head. Next, he worked her arms through. Her skin was still freezing. Speeding back to his room, he procured a pair of sweatpants. Moving just as carefully, he slid them over her legs and skirt. He let out a breath. That part was done. Her makeup was still on, somewhat. Blood had crusted and dried on her lip. Looking closer in the dim light, Billy noticed bruises coloring the insides of her wrists.

_What the hell happened?_

Billy racked his brain. What was the best next step? He could call the cops, but they would surely suspect him. After all, he had just been questioned regarding the vandalism. If they found Y/N unconscious and bruised in his house? That would be trouble. Billy sighed, again raking his hands through his hair. Unable to come up with a better plan, he rummaged through his father and stepmother’s bathroom. Gathering some supplies, he returned to Y/N’s side. He’d seen Susan take off her makeup often enough to have somewhat of an idea of how it worked.

He poured a generous amount of makeup remover on a cotton pad before carefully wiping across Y/N’s eyelids and cheeks. That would have to be enough for now. Then, he dabbed a bit of ointment on a cotton swab and dabbed it across Y/N mouth. The bottom lip had been split. Billy wondered by what, or whom. Even through all of Billy’s clumsy caretaking, Y/N hadn’t stirred. Her breathing was measured and steady, to his relief. However, not once did she make a sound or open her eyes. Even her expression was blank. Billy carefully tucked her in with the quilt before turning on the gas fireplace. He set a small waste bin on the floor by her head just in case she awoke and got sick. He gave her one last look, to make sure she was still breathing, before he returned to his room.

Billy climbed into bed. He folded his arms behind his head. His mind was clouded with images of Y/N’s injuries. The cuts, the bruises, the mess of her clothing. He wondered if it had happened at Heather’s party or on her way home. Had she gone to the party at all? How had she ended up so disoriented? What if she woke up, alone in a house that wasn’t hers? What if she got sick and barfed in her sleep and then choked on it and--

_Shit._

Billy leapt from the bed and returned to the living room. Y/N was resting just as he’d left her. He swallowed; his throat dry. The quick cadence of his racing heart bounced against the ribs of his chest. Sure, she was ok _now_. But something might happen to her. Something else. Billy made up his mind. He wouldn’t leave her out here by herself. He couldn’t. He paced back to his room for pillows, a blanket, and a sleeping bag. Methodically, he crafted a cocoon-like pallet on the floor next to the sofa. Before he slid in, he watched Y/N for a moment. Just to be sure nothing had worsened. Her face remained the same, expressionless. Her breathing was even. She was tightly tucked in beneath the quilt. Most of the makeup was gone. The blood, too. Her hair was still a mess. But Billy didn’t know what to do about that. Satisfied that she would make it through the night, Billy burrowed into his makeshift bed for the night.

A pulsing headache was the first thing that registered in Y/N's mind the next morning. She fought to open her heavy eyelids; the moon shining right into her view didn't help. She lifted her hand to cover her face and froze. She stared blearily at the grey fabric covering her arm. This wasn't what she wore to the party. The party...

Bolts of memory flashed through Y/N's mind. The remnants came jumbled and misplaced like puzzle pieces. Dancing with Michelle until her feet were sore. Fingertips bright orange from too many cheese puffs. Pointed paper party hats and streamers stuck in hair. The stain of punch the carpet. Calling her parents. _Trying _to call her parents. Tommy cutting her with his words. Him pinning her arms behind her back. Tearing at her clothes. Her falling on the hard floor. No, Tommy _pushing _her to the floor. Screaming those awful things. Kicking her knees apart. Tommy trying to--trying to...but he hadn't. Her running without a coat, without her keys. Stumbling to Billy's door. Black. 

Y/N lurched forward as bile rushed up her throat. She felt relief, for a moment, as she spotted a trash bin beside her. Tears stung her eyes as everything from the night before, physical and emotional, churned to the surface. She sank to her knees on the floor, resting her arms and head on the rim of the can. Y/N spit a few times to clear the acid from her tongue. A heavy sigh left her lips. 

A rustling beside her startled her from the daze. Billy rolled over on the floor. He shot up as soon as his eyes met Y/N's.

"Hey," he began hoarsely. "H-how are you feeling?" He looked disheveled. His eyes were bloodshot; his hair tousled. He looked like he had hardly slept a wink.

Y/N licked her cracked lips. She tasted the metallic of dried blood. Her throat was raw as she swallowed and willed words to form.

"I'm ok," she whispered. The burn in her throat rose to a lump, a dam that broke as tears poured from her eyes. She found herself with Billy's arms wrapped tightly. She buried her face into his chest and sobbed. Everything she'd been holding back was finally released as she cried mournfully. Billy rubbed her back comfortingly.

"You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you," he soothed. He continued to assure her, to hold and comfort her while she cried. 

Her eyes were hot. Her head throbbed. But the tears dried. She cleared her throat and pulled away from Billy's embrace. For a while, the two just sat there in silence as Y/N's breathing relaxed. Billy simply sat patiently, if not a bit apprehensively. 

"I'll, uh, get you something to drink," he mumbled, before hurrying off to the kitchen. Y/N padded to the bathroom. Her reflection startled her. Her eyes were puffy and red. Her lip was swollen with a cut down the middle. Thumbprint-sized bruises dotted her throat. She bit her lip to keep from crying all over again. She wrestled the band from her hair, untangling a few knots with her fingers. After a try or two, she managed to get her hair into a mostly-presentable puff. When she returned to the living room, Billy was tidying up. On the coffee table, was a mug of tea.

"I thought it might, uh, be nice," he explained. “The tea.”

"Thank you," she replied simply as she sat cross-legged on the floor.

Y/N took a careful sip of the honeyed liquid. The warmth provided some relief to the pain in her raw throat.

"Thanks for, uh, taking me in last night. I'm sure I freaked you out a little bit," she said apologetically. 

"Yeah, it's whatever. Couldn't have you out there getting hit with stray firecrackers," he chuckled nervously. _Smooth._

The two sat in relative silence. The quiet was punctuated by the distant pop and crackle of backyard fireworks displays.

"Why didn't you just drive home?" Billy broke the silence.

Y/N sighed. She drank more tea, hoping it would push down the lump in her throat.

"I couldn’t think straight. I just wanted to get somewhere safe. This was the first place I thought of.”

"Should I call the police?" Billy asked. “Someone obviously hurt you.”

Y/N shook her head. The last thing she wanted was the fuss of a million questions, fluorescent lights, and critical gazes. 

"No. Please. I just want to forget all about it. I'm just so tired," Her voice broke. she looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from trickling down. She just wanted to know why. Why this was happening to her. Sure, life was full of unpleasant events. But this? This was starting to become overwhelming.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” Billy said firmly.

“Billy, please--.”

“Nah, you can’t just bury this. It’ll eat you alive.” He looked at her knowingly. Y/N wondered at all the things that maybe he was burying. Secrets kept far away from the surface.

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Tell your parents?” he chuckled just a bit, surely trying to put her at ease.

“You trust me right?” he continued, sitting down on the floor next to her.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Y/N took a deep breath and held it as the heat and salt of her anguish rose behind her eyes. “I trust you.”

Billy offered a small smile. His eyes reflected sadness, even in the dark of the room.

“I went to Heather’s New Year’s party. Some of my friends were there. It was fun. Not what I expected, but I was having a good time. There was music and food and lots of familiar faces,” Y/N began.

Billy sat listening attentively. His eyes never left hers.

“It wasn’t something my parents would normally let me go to. There weren’t any chaperones there. And there was a lot of alcohol. But I just wanted so badly to not feel like I was on the outside looking in all the time. I wanted to feel like everybody else. Get dressed up. Stay out late.” She shrugged. “Just be a teenager, instead of my parent’s perfect, spotless prodigy.”

Billy nodded. Of course, he could relate in some ways. Neil put a lot of pressure on him for perfection. He rebelled with the parties and the girls, but he was always aware of the expectations his father had for him.

“My parents let me go out last night—tonight. I don’t even know what day it is anymore,” she bemoaned, throwing up her hands. “They just wanted me to call them when I got there, halfway through the party, and right before I left to go home.”

“When’d you talk to them last?” Billy wondered.

“When I got there. I got so caught up in dancing with my friends, I forgot to call them sooner. By the time I remembered, it was right before midnight.

“When I went to go call them, Tommy…started giving me a hard time,” she mumbled.

Billy’s narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Tommy Haynes?” he questioned.

“Yeah,” she whispered, fiddling nervously with the sleeve of the sweatshirt she wore.

“What did he do to you?” he pressed, struggling to keep his voice even.

Y/N’s throat tightened. When words wouldn’t form, she nodded quickly. The tears she’d been trying to hold back, poured down her cheeks. The intensity of Billy’s now-furious gaze was too much. She looked down at her hands, noticing her bruised knuckles. The images, the feelings of the night’s events crashed over her. After a shaky, shallow breath, she found herself—once again—staining Billy’s shirt with her tears.

* * *

“No matter what you do, you’re still a n--.”

Tommy’s words were drowned out by the cheers of ‘Happy New Year!’ that rang through the house. Outside, the percussion of fireworks blanketed the sounds of the scuffle ensuing in the small study. With all the noise, Y/N hadn’t heard all of what Tommy had said, but she’d read his lips. Her stomach twisted. No one had ever called her that before. No one had ever uttered something so hurtful. Her father had been right. Times hadn’t really changed all that much.

Her chin quivered. Tommy noticed.

“Aw, did I cut too deep? Did you think that all that goody-goody stuff you do around here would make you better?” He scoffed and yanked her closer by her shirt collar. “You’re worth less than the shit on my shoe.”

Y/N struggled to free herself from Tommy’s clutch. She tried to pry his fists open, push him away, knee him in the groin. Anything.

All the while, Tommy taunted her.

“You’re so pathetic. Look at you, pretending to fight me off. You want this. It’s all your kind understands: violence,” he forced his knee between her legs, “And sex.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Fear spiraled into panic as she registered Tommy’s words. He wanted to hurt her. If she didn’t get out of this room, he would do just that.

Y/N screamed with everything she had. If someone heard, they would sa—

Tommy covered Y/N’s mouth with the palm of his hand. His unkempt nails dug into the soft skin of her cheeks.

“Oh, no you don’t. We’re just getting started,” he sneered.

Y/N palmed the surface of the desk behind her in search of something, anything. Closing her fingers around the first object in her grasp and landed it straight to the side of Tommy’s head.

Tommy flinched as the metal stapler struck his temple. When he reached up to cradle his head in his hands, Y/N bolted toward the door.

Tommy was faster. Recovering surprisingly quickly, Tommy spun and grabbed Y/N around the waist, tackling her to the ground.

“You little bitch,” he seethed as he landed on top of her. “I know you fucking want it.”

Y/N screamed again. Any attempts to reason with her assailant were tossed to the wayside. She just needed to get out of this room.

She thrashed her legs and kicked feet. She jabbed her elbows and swung her arms.

“You want it rough, huh?” He smirked. “I can make that happen.”

Y/N’s eyes smarted as Tommy’s fist connected to her face. The back of her head knocked against the hardwood floor.

“Is that what you wanted, huh?” he gripped her chin tightly, squeezing until she tasted copper.

Y/N’s heart pounded. She felt it in her ears, her teeth. She could hardly breath as Tommy shifted his full weight on top of her. His breath was hot on her neck as he panted over her. The smell of fruit punch and liquor made her stomach turn. Tommy suddenly leant to one side. He rested his weight on one arm while the other reached between their bodies.

“This is a nice skirt. It’ll look better around your ankles,” he gibed. The tearing of fabric. The clinking of a belt buckle.

“Fuck,” Tommy swore.

He seemed, at once, frazzled. His belt was stuck. Or his zipper. Y/N wasn’t sure. What she was sure of, however, was that this could be her only shot at making it out more or less unscathed. While Tommy was distracted, she braced herself for the inevitable pain. With a quickness, butted her head against Tommy’s nose. A gush of warm blood splattered onto her face as Tommy howled in pain. Not missing her chance, she wiggled out from underneath him. As he lay groaning face-down on the floor, she scrambled dizzily to her feet. She had to leave. She had to leave _now. _She didn’t know if he would run after her. She didn’t know if anyone would spot her and try to stop her from leaving. All she knew was that she had to get somewhere far away. Someplace safe.

The head-on collision with Tommy’s nose had done more damage than she’d realized. One second, she was fleeing the study. In the next, she was halfway down the block, cutting through stranger’s manicured lawns. Perhaps it was the cold or the night’s injuries, but she didn’t remember how she’d made it up the front steps to that house. But once she realized she was there, she pounded on the front door with all the strength she had left. Someone had to be home. Anyone. She just wanted to be safe.

Before she could knock again, the door swung open. Billy’s eyes met her blurry gaze. It seemed as if there were two of him. Maybe three? Four?

“Y/N, what happened to you?” Billy’s bewildered voice seemed muffled, like it was coming from underwater.

“…didn’t know where else to go…” she whispered. Her vision began to narrow. She struggled to take a single step forward before everything went black.

* * *

Y/N finished with a shaky breath. Throughout her retelling of her ordeal, Billy sat perfectly still and quiet. He didn’t say a word, but his face grew increasingly red.

“You should get some rest,” he said. “It’s, like, four in the morning.”

Startled by his suddenly harsh tone, Y/N looked up at him. His jaw was clenched tight. A deep crease was forming in his brow.

_Is he mad at me?_

“Billy, I didn’t mean—,” she began.

“Go to sleep. I’ll drive you home in a couple hours,” he clipped.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.

_It was a mistake to tell him, to even come here. I should have just driven home._

Billy slid into his cot on the floor without a word. He rolled over, the sound of his steady breathing soon filled the air.

Y/N sighed heavily and covered herself under the warm quilt. She probably wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.

“Billy?” she whispered. Even when he made no reply, she continued, “Thank you for taking care of me tonight. I’m sorry if I did anything to upset you. I just—just wanted to feel safe. My parents would have been so upset, made such a fuss. But you’re never like that. You’re always so calm, even when you’re upset. I’m just thankful you answered the door and took me in. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

She waited a moment for some kind of reply. Anything. When none came, she turned her back to him and hoped for sleep.

A few hours later, Y/N lay staring at the ceiling. The sun was bright in the sky, the moon nowhere in sight. Billy was up a short time later, appearing not to have slept much either. Wordlessly, Billy put the shreds of Y/N’s clothing into a bag. He disappeared into his room and returned dressed in jeans and a suede shearling jacket, car keys in hand. He handed Y/N a coat.

“I’m taking you home,” he muttered.

The car ride was tense. Y/N wrung her hands. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to tick Billy off. He’d never been mad at her before. He’d hardly said a word to her all morning. The two sat in silence. Not even music from the radio filled the awkwardness of their quiet.

The Camaro pulled up to her home shortly after. Billy walked Y/N to her door and knocked.

Y/N’s mother opened the door and gasped.

“Oh, sweetie! We were so worried about you!” She pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. “Whose clothes are these? What happened to your face?” She looked from Y/N to Billy frantically. Her father appeared in the doorway.

“What the devil happened at that party?” he bellowed. “You’d better have some answers, son.”

Before Billy could defend himself, Y/N answered.

“No, Billy helped me. I ran to his house from the party. He made sure I was safe. These are clothes he gave me,” she rushed.

Her father nodded sternly and reached out to shake Billy’s hand.

“We’ll have to thank you properly some other time, son,” he said earnestly. He turned to face his daughter. “We’re taking you to the hospital and then we’re contacting the police.”

Y/N didn’t bother opening her mouth to argue. She had a feeling her parents weren’t going to let her out of their sight for the next ten years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be coming sooner rather than later! i've realized i'm putting too much pressure on myself for perfection and a high word count. fanfic is supposed to be fun, right? so, i'm gonna take it easy on myself. 
> 
> anyhoo, feedback is super welcome. seriously. i love to hear from y'all.


	7. finally, some answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you get the answers you're looking for. And rarely, interrogation leads to a suspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings for this chapter! the next one is written and ready. just gotta pick a song or two to go with it.

Once Y/N was inside, Billy got into his Camaro and drove home. He wanted to be sure to clean the place up before Max got home and started asking questions. If Y/N wanted Max to know what happened to her, she could tell her herself. It wasn’t his place to share something so personal, especially to someone she cared about so much.

Billy made quick work of getting the living room back in order. He made sure to empty the trash can that held bloody cotton swabs and little curls of Y/N’s hair. He didn’t want his sister to find out, but his biggest worry was his father. Having Y/N over for tutoring was one thing. It was short-term and supervised. Having her spend the night with no parents home was another thing entirely, no matter the motivation behind it. When Billy was satisfied with the state of the house, he began to set a plan into motion. 

* * *

Y/N and her parents were at the hospital that morning. Though her injuries were non-emergent, her disheveled state had her admitted within minutes. A nurse came in and took her vitals. She asked the nature of her visit and gave her a hospital gown to change into. When the nurse left the room, her parents both turned and looked at her expectantly.

She looked down at her hands. _ Here comes the hard part. _

“The party wasn’t what I thought it would be,” she croaked.

“I told you--” her father began.

“Michael, please!” Her mother interrupted. “Let the girl explain. Save your lecture for another time!”

Michael huffed, but conceded. 

“Go on, sweetie,” her mother encouraged with a soft smile.

“When I first got there, I just knew I was gonna leave in, like, less than an hour. There were so many people. I barely knew anyone there. There was alcohol and not even one parent. Plus, I felt so out of place, like I stuck out or something.”

Her mother nodded encouragingly.

“But then I saw Michelle and some of my other friends! We got all hyped up on sugar and there was music playing. We just danced and danced until almost midnight. I got so caught up that I forgot to call and check in. I’m sorry,” she continued.

“We’re just glad you’re safe. But what else happened last night? You didn’t get a black eye dancing,” said her mother. 

“Everyone started counting down. I realized how late it was and that I hadn’t checked in. I went to a quiet part of the house to call you and say I was coming home soon..”

“We never got a second phone call from you last night.” Her mother’s brow furrowed. 

“Y/N, what happened?” Her father struggled to keep his voice low.

Y/N looked up at the fluorescent lights of the room, hoping to keep the tears at bay. She had cried so much already.

“Uh, this guy came up to me. Wanted me to kiss him when the ball dropped.”

“What _ guy _?” her father pressed.

“Tommy Haynes,” she mumbled.

“Patrick Haynes’ son?” he yelled, jumping to his feet. 

Y/N flinched, startled by her father’s sudden actions.

“Yeah, I think that’s his dad,” Y/N said quietly.

Michael paced the room.

“Patrick Haynes is a bigoted son of a bitch!” her father bellowed.

“Michael!” her mother chastised. “If you’re going to talk like that, at least keep your voice down. Someone will call security. Go on, sweetie. Don’t mind your father.”

Y/N shrugged.

“When I told him ‘no’, he got angry. He started calling me names. When I fought back, he started slapping me around. I only got away ‘cause I headbutted him. So, I might have a concussion…” her voice trailed off.

“When I get my hands on that bastard, I swear I--.”

A polite knock interrupted her father’s ranting. A scrub-clad woman stepped into the room. 

“Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N,” she greeted warmly. She pushed up her large frame glasses as she scratched a few notes onto the clipboard she carried. “I’m Caroline Li. I understand you sustained a few injuries last night, is that right?”

_ Something like that. _

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied quietly. 

“Some piece of trash put his hands on her,” her father seethed. “She didn’t do that to herself.”

“We just want to make sure that she gets the proper medical treatment before we go to the police,” her mother added.

Caroline Li’s eyes widened in surprise. This wasn’t the kind of visit she thought it would be when she’d walked in.

“I see,” she replied. “I’m going to page another nurse to help me with the exam. We’ll have to photograph your injuries, if any legal action will be taken against the assailant.”

“Oh, trust me,” her father scoffed, “We’re taking that kid to court.”

While Caroline confirmed some information with Y/N, a nurse entered the room wheeling in a cart with a variety of instruments, including a Polaroid camera. 

“We’re ready to proceed when you are, my dear,” Caroline soothed. 

She added, “But I will say, I believe this will be more comfortable for everyone involved if your parents are _ not _ in the room.”

“I’m not leaving her side,” Y/N’s mother asserted.

  
  


Suddenly, Y/N felt very much in the spotlight. The bright, white lights were beginning to give her a headache. Her parents sat on either side of her. Her father, fuming. Her mother, seemingly calm and looking at her pointedly. Caroline gazed at her expectantly. The cold of the room caused goosebumps to rise on her skin. She wanted nothing more than to burrow deep under that warm quilt. To rewind time and do something a little differently. Something, anything that wouldn’t have landed her here.

“Please, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N. You can give your statement to the police in the waiting room. The officers should be here very shortly.”

The parents sighed before both rising to stand and leave. As she passed by, Y/N mother squeezed her daughter’s hand.

“We’ll be right outside,” she assured.

When the door was closed, Caroline Li prepared to begin the exam. First, she photographed each of her injuries. There were many. She started with the aubergine bruise around her eye and concluded with an image of the short lacerations on both thighs. Next, the nurse began to hand Caroline various implements. Gauze, cotton-tipped swabs, antibiotic ointment. All of the injuries were merely cleaned and bandaged.

“That’s a pretty nasty cut you’ve got on your lip,” Caroline commented as she applied wound tape to the aforementioned affliction. “Any deeper and you would have needed a stitch or two. Leave this bandage on for the rest of the day. I’ll give you a few more for the next week. If it hasn’t begun close by then, come see me.”

Upon further examination, it was discovered that Y/N did have a concussion. She was told the proper precautions and warning signs to look out for. Her clothing, which Billy had earlier placed in a bag, was collected as evidence. After all the information was thoroughly documented, she was given a hospital toiletry so she could freshen up before heading to the police station. The sooner she recounted the events of the night before, she less likely she was to forget important details. 

After washing her face and removing the last traces of blood and mud from her skin, Y/N took a few trembling breaths to steady herself. Her chest was tight. Her limbs are leaden. She had hardly gotten any sleep the night before. It had been even longer since she’d eaten.

_ Just talk to the police, then it’ll all be over. _

* * *

The family arrived at the Hawkins Police Station at the peak of the day. The medical exam had taken hours between documenting each injury and treating the wounds. After the examination, a social worker had come in to give Y/N an overview of the available psychological services should she need them. She entered the station clutching a multitude of fliers and pamphlets. 

Officer Calvin Powell looked up from his desk as the trio walked in. His eyes widened as he took in Y/N’s battered appearance. He rushed over the take the girl into his arms.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, her head tucked under his chin.

A familiar question.

“That Haynes boy is what happened,” Michael gruffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “We were just at the hospital.”

“I heard an assault victim was supposed to be coming into the station today. Couldn’t have imagined it would be you,” he said incredulously.

“Neither could we,” her mother lamented. “You’ve got to do something, Calvin. He can’t get away with this. And if he does, you know Michael will end up in jail himself.”

“You protected me growin’ up. Now you’re havin’ to protect my kid,” Michael said, shaking his head. “I owe you so much, Cal.”

“Hey, none of that,” Officer Powell replied, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I was just practicing for my job back then. Now, I’m doin’ it.”

Jim Hopper emerged from his office, third cup of coffee in hand. Assessing the image before him, he strained to keep a poker face. 

“Tell me this isn’t the case Callahan and Parker were looking into,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his beard.

Y/N said nothing. She fiddled with the papers in her hands, gaze steady on the linoleum floor.

“Christ,” The chief swore under his breath. “Step into my office, then. Powell, I trust you’ll keep her parents good company. And Flo, please bring Ms. Y/L/N here a slice of that quiche you made.

“You like quiche, don’t you?” He turned to Y/N, who nodded in reply. “An extra big slice, Flo.”

Y/N and Hopper sat down in his office a few moments later. The blinds were drawn and the door was closed. Fluorescent lights buzzed above their heads. Hopper blew out a tense breath. The lines in his forehead deepened as he seemed to fully come to terms with the task before him. Y/N, with a paper plate of quiche in her lap, ate mechanically and quietly. Hardly tasting the food on her tongue, she sat waiting for the questioning to begin.

.

The chief of police gathered what he needed for the endeavor: a notebook, number 2 pencil, and a tape recorder. Unlike with the vandalism, there was a suspect named and Y/N’s parents wanted to move forward with pressing charges against Tommy Haynes. The first step was Y/N’s account of what happened that night.

“Not how any of us wanted the new year to start. You’re a strong kid, Y/N. We’re gonna make sure we do right by you and your folks. But first, I need you to tell me what happened. Every detail you can remember. I’ve got the tape recorder here for the purpose of transcription, for private record. But anything you say here stays here, alright?” Hopper offered Y/N a sad smile. 

“Yeah,” she replied hoarsely. “I understand.”

“Why don’t we start with the--the setting, if you will. Paint the picture. Where were you? Who was there with you? Stuff like that.”

Y/N began to describe the details of the night before. She named the people she saw there, naming her friends and describing the strangers. 

“So, your parents and Robin Buckley saw you leave home. Who saw you arrive at the party?”

Y/N answered with some of the same names.

“Sounds like plenty of eyewitnesses. You called your parents when you got there, correct?”

Y/N nodded. Hopper scribbled some notes down on the Steno pad.

“Was anything amiss before the assault? Any suspicious behavior? Anyone seem like they didn’t fit in?” he asked.

Y/N laughed ironically.

“I didn’t look like I fit in. Not at first anyway. Some people, some of the populars seemed to wonder why I was there,” she replied.

“And who are the ‘populars’?” Hopper pressed.

Y/N named them all, Carol included. 

“Carol...she’s dating Tommy Haynes, yes?” he questioned.

“That’s right,” she mumbled. 

_ I guess I’ll have to talk about him next. _

“Let’s get to this Tommy kid. You ever met him before this?”

“I’d seen him around town a couple times. But I’m more familiar with his reputation than with him.”

Hopper scratched out more notes. 

“I’m gonna have to ask you what happened with him last night,” he said lowly. “Take your time. I know this ain’t easy.”

Y/N continued to describe every moment of the assault. She paused when tears threatened to fall. She swallowed thickly as the room began to spin. She hurried through the rest of what remembered, including the awful names Tommy had called her.

At that last detail, Hopper looked up suddenly. He flicked the pages of his notebook in search of something. He grinned when he found what he was looking for.

“Those are the same words that were written on the mural. Y/N, it looks like Tommy may be the vandal. The next step is the motive. But you’d never met him before, right?”

“Right…but…” she mumbled.

Hopper squinted, tilting his head in suspicion.

“What is it? What do you remember?” he asked.

“It’s just that...he acted like he knew me. He went on about my ‘good deeds’. That they wouldn’t change who I am. _ What _I am.”

Hopper bit his lip.

“I’m bringin’ him in.” Hopper stopped the tape recorder. He shuffled a few papers and flipped the notepad closed. “I would like to ask you somethin’, kid. Off the record.”

Y/N’s face grew hot. Whatever it was, it was probably serious.

“Your folks seem alright. A little uptight, maybe. But well-meaning. How come you didn’t go straight home last night? Somethin’ happen at home?”

Y/N fidgeted with the empty paper plate, folding and unfolding the edges as she thought of an answer. She too exhausted to make anything up, even if she wanted to smudge the truth. She decided to be honest.

“I knew Billy wouldn’t judge me. Not for going to the party or for letting something bad happen to me. He wouldn’t lecture me or say ‘I told you so’. I knew that he would make me feel safe,” she confessed.

“Sounds like a special kinda guy,” Hopper replied with a nod and a smile.

“He is,” Y/N managed to say with a smile. “Even if he doesn’t realize it.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, thank you to everyone who is still with me on this ride! feedback (even something as simple as an emoji) is welcomed and encouraged. ilysm!


	8. following an impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is impulsive, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mild violence in this chapter, some mentions of blood and broken bones.

Billy seethed as he sped down the icy road in his Camaro. The wintry wind whipped around him, driving his fury even higher. His knuckles were white as his hand gripped the steering wheel. Bass and electric guitar from the car stereo system cheered him on to his destination.

**(Recommended listening “Hallowed Be Thy Name” - Iron Maiden)**

“Of course it was fuckin’ Tommy,” he muttered to himself. “Shoulda realized it sooner.”

Sure, Neil thought that Billy’s friends were idiots, but he somehow had a soft spot for Tommy. They had similar ideas about the way the world should work. Men were the natural leaders, women the natural followers. The Civil War was about states’ rights. The sun revolved around the earth. They both agreed that Hawkins was getting a little too ‘ethnic’. It all seemed ridiculous to Billy. It was Neil’s idea for them to move. Billy was even really starting to like Hawkins. It was quiet, sort of. Close-knit. He’d made some enemies. Some friends. He had thought Tommy was one of them. 

After dropping Y/N off at her house, he’d returned home to give Tommy a quick call. Billy had asked him to meet at the record store across the street from the mall. He’d told him he wanted to get the new My Bloody Valentine vinyl and maybe a few cassette tapes for the Camaro.

Billy recklessly backed into a parking space, expertly missing the curb of the pavement. Tommy waited outside the store, reading posters of upcoming concerts and album releases. Billy exited the Camaro coolly, aviator shades and all. He marched over to Tommy with confidence in his step.

“Step over here for a sec. I need a smoke first,” Billy said casually, pulling out a carton of clove cigarettes. He strode around the building into the alleyway. Tommy following behind him.

Billy removed his shades. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. He looked wrung out. Despite his exhaustion, determination was set clear in his features. 

“Long night, huh? Didn’t see you at the Heather’s party.” Tommy inquired with a smirk.

“Nah, I was...occupied,” Billy grumbled, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. “You went?”

“Oh yeah. I had a great time.” Tommy drawled.

Billy quirked a brow.

“Must’ve been a wild night. You look like shit. What happened to your face?” Billy questioned.

Tommy’s hand went instinctively to his bandaged nose. He must have changed out of his clothes from the night before, as there were no signs of the assault. But Billy could spot faint bruises on his knuckles.

“Yeah,  _ real  _ wild night. But, uh, this isn’t even the most of the action,” Tommy said, puffing out his chest.

Billy flicked off the ash on the tip of the cigarette between his fingers. 

**(Recommended listening “Babylon’s Burning” - The Ruts)**

“Breaking your face wasn’t the highlight of your night?” Billy feigned ignorance.  _ I wanna hear you say it. _

“Not by a longshot. Bagging Y/N was the... _ climax _ of the evening.” Tommy licked his lips.

Billy kept his face calm. He proceeded with a look of fairly convincing surprise.

“Y/N who?” he asked conversationally.

“You know  _ exactly  _ who. That home-schooled chick. Let me tell you, she may seem all sweet on the outside--” Tommy whistled low. “But she is a dirty, dirty girl. I had her begging.”

Billy mashed out his cigarette with the heel of his boot. He had to keep his face neutral. Tommy wasn’t making it easy.

“Begging you to stop, I bet,” Billy sneered. “What about Carol?”

“Got some of that, too,” he said haughtily. “The new year started off with a real  _ bang _ .”

Billy swaggered up to Tommy, offering him a cigarette. Tommy accepted, holding it out for Billy’s lighter.

“Y/N, huh?” He ignited the lighter. “She have a good time?”

“The time of her life,” he snickered, taking a drag of the cigarette.

_ You son of a bitch. _

“That’s not what I heard,” Billy growled.

Before Tommy could open his mouth to reply, Billy drew back his arm and slammed his fist into his jaw. Both the surprise and the force of the blow knocked Tommy to the ground, cigarette flying from his hand. Tommy immediately clutched his face as he blinked incredulously.

“What the hell, man?” he demanded.

Billy pinned Tommy to the ground. He gripped his shirt collar before slamming his fist into Tommy’s face again. Tommy turned and spit blood onto the pavement.

“You jealous?” Tommy wheezed. “You wanted to smash first?”

Billy watched as Tommy’s bruised face twisted into a ridiculing smile.

“You think it’s funny, huh? Trying to force yourself on girls that don’t want you?” Billy’s fist collided with Tommy’s jaw again. “Rough ‘em up until they do anything you say? That get you going?”

Tommy’s head lolled dizzily. He blinked slowly, struggling to focus his vision. His teeth reddened with fresh blood.

“Piece of shit,” Billy swore, right before he landed a heavy wallop to Tommy’s already broken nose.

* * *

After showering and twisting her hair into a scarf-covered updo, Y/N swaddled herself in fleece pajamas and slept. And slept. And  _ slept _ . Her parents, relieved that she was patched up, let her be. She slumbered well into the late afternoon, hardly distrurbed by anything in the outside world. Her dreams were muddied with flashes of the night before. But, for the most part, she woke up feeling rested. 

Y/N shuffled into the kitchen hours later, swathed in one of her dad’s college pullovers.

“Perfect timing!” Janine exclaimed. “We’ve got work to do!”

Y/N stopped in her tracks.  _ She can’t be serious.  _

“I need you to help me decide which recipe to bake for Billy. As a thank you,” her mother continued.

Y/N’s shoulders slumped in relief. 

“I can do that,” she said with a smile.

Y/N and her mother settled on a recipe they’d made many times before. Something they usually baked around the holiday season. Her mother rolled out the pie crust while Y/N measured the sugar and spices for the filling.

“When it’s cooled, we’ll deliver it as a family to Billy’s house. Your father went and got your car while you were resting.”

The two worked amicably. The scenario reminded Y/N of the memories of baking with her mother when she was a little girl. Spilling flour on the countertop. Icing cupcake too early. Licking the mixing bowl clean. A part of her yearned to be that small again. To be so young and unaffected by the cruelty of the world. To worry of nothing but nap time and coloring between the lines. For a moment, though, she could pretend.

Carefully, the pie crust was pre-baked. The filling was gently ladled inside. The top crust was blanketed on top, fork marks pressed along the crust. Into the oven it went after a generous pinch of sugar was sprinkled on top. While the confection baked away in the oven, Y/N and her mother chatted casually, their conversation steering clear of the events of the night before. 

Not long after, the timer rang and the pie was set out to cool.

* * *

Max barreled through the front door, lugging her skateboard and overnight bag on her back. The threw her things down haphazardly and marched into Billy’s room. Her brother sat on his bed inspecting his darkening knuckles.

“What happened to Y/N?” she demanded breathlessly.

Billy gave her a sideways glance.

“Well, ‘hello’ to you too, Maxine,” he mocked.

Max put her hand on her hip. She was not in the mood to joke with him. Word had spread all over town that something bad had happened to Y/N at the party, but rumors varied. Some said she’d gotten jumped by Carol and her friends. Some said she’d been pushed down a flight of stairs. What was apparent, though, was that no one knew the certain truth.

Billy hesitated, weighing just how much of the truth to share with his sister. He wanted her to know the truth, but not freak her out.

“She went to that party last night. Some guy tried to be a creep. She fought him off,” he said with a shrug.

“I heard there were a hundred people at Heather’s house,” Max said.

“I dunno. Wasn’t there,” Billy dismissed.

“I heard Tommy was one of them,” she continued.

“Could’ve been,” he replied, still fixated on the back of his hand.

“I heard you broke his nose,” she went on.

“Nah, it was already broken,” he said.

Max jumped.

“So, you  _ were _ there!”

_ Dammit.  _ He’d only been half-listening.

“I saw him. Not at the party last night,” Billy answered. He hoped there weren’t any rumors about where he had been the night before. The last thing he needed was his father finding out Y/N had been at his house, in  _ his  _ clothes. It would probably get out eventually. 

Max nodded. 

“I’m glad you beat him up,” she said with a grin. “He deserves it.”

_ He deserves worse than that,  _ Billy thought.

“I was gonna go over there--to Y/N’s house--before Dad and Susan get home. Just to check on her, if you, uh, wanna come too.”

Max’s face lit up.

“I’ll go get my coat!”

Max and Billy sat in the Camaro, radio playing quietly. Things had been better between them. Thanks to Y/N, really. Not that Billy would ever admit that. He’d always loved his stepsister, in his own special way. But the tutoring and the art classes had forced them to spend more time together. Time that, miraculously, wasn’t spent bickering. Instead, he’d subtly encouraged his sister’s creativity. It was something Neil couldn’t take away from her with his heavy-handed “parenting”. 

Max sat gazing out of the window at the snow covered trees. She mulled over her words before deciding to break the silence.

“Why don’t you ask her out?”

Billy’s eyes never left the road. But they did widen in shock behind his shades.

“What?” He demanded, trying to play it off with a smirk..

“Y/N. You obviously like her. And she puts up with you. So, why don’t you ask her on a date? Take her to get ice cream or something,” Max posited. 

Billy scoffed.

“I don’t do that,” he rebuffed.

Max smirked.

“You don’t do ice cream?” she questioned sarcastically.

Billy rolled his eyes. He turned up the volume of the radio, hoping Max would take the hint.

“I don’t do dates. Romance and shit? Not my style.”

Max snorted.

“Yeah, whatever.”

They arrived a short time later. Billy may have been speeding  _ slightly.  _ Max eagerly rang the doorbell. Billy stuck his hands in his pockets in an effort not to appear as he felt...nervous.

The door swung open to reveal Y/N’s father’s broad form standing in the doorway. Despite his intimidating presence, his face quickly pulled into a friendly grin as he recognized the visitors at his front door.

“Billy, the man of the hour! Come in, come in,” he beckoned as he ushered them into the home. “And you must be Max. I’ve heard lots of good things about you.”

Max blushed.

The home was warm and still decorated for Christmas. The ‘perfect’ Christmas tree stood tall in the living room, the top grazing the popcorn ceiling. Pine cuttings adorned the mantle of the fireplace. Biblical figurines sat in little corners of the place, sheep and angels and wise men. The air was thick with the smell of vanilla and mulling spices. The aroma swam through Billy’s senses, washing over him with deja vu. He had smelled that scent before. Before he could place it, Y/N walked into the room. She beamed as she spotted who had come by.

_ She’s probably just excited to see my sister _ , Billy thought. And just as the thought crossed his mind, Y/N’s smile faltered as she remembered how coldly he’d suddenly behaved.

Max sucked in a breath. She hadn’t seen Y/N since her injuries. Billy thought she looked much more well since he saw her that morning. Max didn’t have that memory for comparison. Y/N’s lip was still swollen, but the laceration was covered with a thin bandage. The bruise around her eye was darkening to a deep purple. All the other bruises were hidden in the large sweatshirt she wore. 

“Max!” she exclaimed, bounding over to give the girl a hug. “I feel better than I look, I swear.”

Max laughed through her sniffles. The corners of her eyes dampened with faint tears.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” she breathed.

“I am. I have your brother to thank for that,” Y/N said. 

Max pulled away, looking bewildered.

“What’s he got to do with it?” she asked suspiciously.

Y/N looked at Billy, now just as confused.

“You didn’t tell her? I wandered to you all’s house from Heather’s. He took me in last night and drove me home this morning.”

“No way!” Max said. “He’s not  _ that  _ nice.”

“Hey!” Billy interjected. “I have my moments, alright?”

“And for that, we’re grateful,” said Y/N’s mom as she entered the foyer. “Why don’t you take off your coats and have a seat for a little while?”

Max hurriedly shrugged off her coat and followed Y/N to her room.

“Just for a few minutes!” Billy called after his sister’s retreating form.

“Good,” Michael said. “We’d like to have a word with you, son.”

_ Shit. _

Most parents hated Billy. Perhaps, it was the smoking and the drinking. It could have been his style. Maybe it was due to the common sight of a certain blue Camaro going 95mph on Hawkins’ back roads. He didn’t care. But today, he was very aware of the unsavory things they might have heard about them. His palms began to sweat.

_ Shit. _

“Have a seat, Billy,” Y/N’s mother said, gesturing to the sofa.

He complied. He rubbed his palms along the sides of his legs, waiting for the inevitable. The “you’re a bad influence on our daughter”, the “boys your age only want one thing”.

“Billy, we cannot thank you enough for what you did for our baby girl,” Y/N’s mother said.

“I’m sorry, M--wait, come again?” Billy sputtered. He looked back and forth between Janine and Michael. They were being earnest.

“I’m sure it just felt like you were doing the right thing last night. But it was more than that, son. Y/N told us all about it. You could have turned her away. Instead, you took her in, cleaned her up, kept her safe and warm,” Michael said.

“Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t answered the door? There are terrible, awful people out there,” Janine added. “There aren’t enough words in the English language to express our gratitude.”

Billy opened and closed his mouth as he groped for something to say.

“It’s, uh, it’s nothin’, really,’ Billy said.

“It most certainly is something. You’re a good kid. Even if your pop--.”

“Michael,” Janine warned.

Y/N’s father cleared his throat.

“Anyway. That’s all we wanted to say: thank you. If you ever need a thing-- _ anything _ \--you can call on us,” he said. Michael reached out and shook Billy’s hand before pulling into a bear hug. 

Billy’s face warmed. He returned the embrace cautiously, feeling out of practice with such gregarious show of affection. Despite the awkwardness, he was flattered by the Y/L/N’s gratitude. He didn’t think that what he did deserved any recognition. He just did it. 

_ It was more impulse than caring _ , he told himself.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank youuuuu to everyone on this journey with me! as always, feedback is welcome and appreciated <3


	9. no pressure, no expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maybe someone will be honest about their feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here ya go, lovelies!

“I hope he burns in hell,” Max said, staring at the ceiling of Y/N’s room.

Y/N replied with only silence. She didn’t wish harm on anyone. But she did hope that Tommy got what he deserved. She simply couldn’t understand why he did such a thing. They hardly knew one another. Sure, he might have heard about her art class or other service projects. She had certainly heard about his reputation. But that didn’t explain why he would want to hurt her. And the awful things he said...it all left Y/N overwhelmed, hurt, confused. 

She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of Max calling her name.

“Hey, don’t think about him. Let’s talk about something else,” Max said.

Y/N turned to her and smiled.

“Sure. Like what?” Y/N asked.

Max slid off the bed to sit cross-legged in front of Y/N. She leaned forward as if preparing to reveal something secret.

“Like you and my brother,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Y/N’s face warmed. 

_ Play it cool _ , she told herself.

“What about me and your brother,” she asked, feigning oblivion.

Max rolled her eyes.

“You tell me! You went to him for help last night and neither one of you told me about it. What’s going on between you?”

“Nothing!” Y/N said, throwing her hands up. “Your house isn’t far from Heather’s. I was too scared to drive home. So, I just went to someplace familiar.”

Max shook her head in disbelief.

“It’s more than that, Y/N, and you know it. It’s more than you feeling scared,” Max insisted.

Y/N sighed. First, Hopper asked. Now, Max. It seemed everyone saw something between them. 

_ There’s nothing there. _

“It’s nothing, really. I just knew I’d be ok with him. Safe. Like when your step-dad is home and giving me a hard time? Billy always kinda shielded me from that. Distracted him or let me know when he wasn’t going to be home. So, I guess...I just hoped that I’d be safe last night too. With him.”

Max nodded for Y/N to continue.

_ One of them’s gotta admit it _ , she thought.

“It wasn’t always like that. Feeling safe around him. He actually scared me at first,” Y/N said.

Max laughed.

“Billy scared you? He’s a big softie deep down. Deep,  _ deep  _ down. He doesn’t show it much. He does with you, though.”

“Yeah. He did make me tea,” Y/N said with an amused smile.

Max laughed even harder.

“Tea? No way! All he knows how to make is a sandwich!”

Y/N pulled her knees to her chest. She rested her chin on folded arms.

“Really. Said it would be nice. Help me feel better,” Y/N recalled.

“No way,” she repeated. “How come he scared you, though?”

Y/N shrugged. 

“I guess it was his reputation more than anything. The fighting, the partying, the girls. And he wasn’t all that nice to you,” Y/N said.

Max looked down, fiddling with the carpet. Truthfully, Billy used to scare her too. She wished she could say that she’d never been afraid for her life when she was around them. But, there had been a few times. Some of those instances had involved his Camaro. He’d changed, though. Seemingly, overnight. Of course, he was still Billy. Arrogant and abrasive. But he was softer somehow. Kinder, even.

“He’s changed since he met you. He used to be a big jerk. Now, he’s less of a big jerk,” Max said with a crooked smile.

Y/N pulled the end of her sleeves over her hands. 

“That’s not because of me. If he’s changed, it’s because he wanted to. It’s not anything I did,” Y/N dismissed. 

Max huffed.

“You two are so stubborn!”

Y/N looked up, startled by Max’s sudden frustration.

“Max, what--.”

“No! Listen to me!--please,” she added.

Y/N bit her lip and nodded for Max to continue.

“He  _ likes  _ you--”

“Max--.”

Max’s hands flew to cover Y/N’s mouth, gently to avoid the cut on her lip.

“Hear me out, ok?” 

When Y/N nodded, she removed her hands. 

“Look, he really likes you.  _ Like _ likes you. You think he helped me with my English project because he loves literature? It was so he could spend more time with you! And he talks about you too. Nice things like how smart you are and how he doesn’t get why you hang out with someone lame like me!”

“None of that means he’s interested in me,” Y/N said with a frown.

Max’s brows shot up.

“Uh...yeah, it does! The only bad thing he’s ever said about you is that you’re too nice. And that’s sort of a compliment!”

That wasn’t  _ entirely _ true. Billy had said that Y/N was trouble. But that really wasn’t a reflection of how Billy saw her, but how Neil did. So, it wasn’t a lie. Not really.

“And he made you tea. He doesn’t even like tea!” Max exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “So?”

“So, what?” Y/N questioned.

“So, how do you feel about him?” Max pressed.

Y/N rose to stand. The room was too warm. She paced over to the window and mindlessly twirled the fringe of the curtains. Outside the window, snow was beginning to fall. Gentle, delicate flakes that caught the moonlight on their descent. She’d rather be one of them. Drifting and landing wherever they pleased. No pressure, no expectations.

Y/N finally shrugged. 

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even see me that way,” Y/N said. 

Max groaned in frustration.

“Yeah, he does! That’s why he came over here in the first place! It wasn’t for me! He just invited me along. He wanted to  _ see  _ you because he  _ likes  _ you!”

Y/N leaned her back against the window sill. She cast her gaze to Max, studying her face for its sincerity. She looked earnest. She looked like she believed what she was saying, that Billy had feelings for her. Y/N shook her head in resignation.

“Max, even if he does like me, your dad hates me,” Y/N said bitterly.

“He hates, like, everyone except my mom,” she rebutted. 

“Yeah and he’d hate me even more if I went out with your brother,” Y/N said.

“So, you like him?” Max grinned.

“That’s not what I said!”

Max’s grin only widened. She tugged Y/N’s arm to pull her back to sit on the floor.

“Spill it!”

“Fine!” She said, lying face-up on the floor. “I dunno why! Not when! I don’t even know how...but I like him, ok? Happy, now? I like him!”

Max looked at her expectantly.

“You’ve gotta know why and when and how. Now, tell me!”

Y/N groaned. She hadn’t let herself think so much into it. She hadn’t even admitted her feelings to herself. What was the use? She rolled onto her side, propping her face up on her hand. She may as well face it. Wouldn’t hurt, right?

“I thought he was such a jerk, at first. Robin told me about his fight with Steve Harrington that one time. I just knew he must’ve been just the worst.”

Max chuckled.

“Yeah, I used to think so too,” she replied.

Y/N continued, “It wasn’t until winter break that I started looking--seeing him differently. Those times he’d help Susan in the kitchen when she didn’t even ask. When he’d help explain things to you that I couldn’t. That look on his face when you read your final draft to us. He was genuinely proud of you. He was soft and kind. Nothing like that person I was afraid he was. 

“And those times we went on a drive to give you some thinking room? Or went out to Melvald’s to get you more supplies? He’d crack jokes the entire time. Ask me about my family. Put in one of his favorite new cassette tapes.” Y/N smiled at the memories. “I guess, somewhere along the way, he just started to mean a lot more to me.”

Max squealed in excitement. That was exactly what she’d wanted to hear.

“You two will be just like Romeo and Juliet!” She exclaimed.

Y/N deadpanned.

“Max! They both died!”

“Not in my version! They lived happily ever after and their parents got over it.”

“As amazing as your story is, Max, life isn’t like that,” Y/N said.

“But it could be! You won’t know until you try.”

Y/N sat up.

“No way. I’m not even his type,” she refused.

Max rolled her eyes.

“And what is his type?”

“Girls like Heather Halloway and Nancy Wheeler. Pretty. Popular. Not getting attacked at parties,” Y/N mumbled.

“That wasn’t your fault!”

* * *

Billy climbed the stairs to Y/N’s room; his steps were muffled by the plush carpet. He and Max needed to be home soon. He didn’t want his father asking too many questions about where they’d been. He made his way down the hallway and lifted his hand to knock on the door. He paused when he heard Y/N’s muffled voice.

“I like him, ok? Happy, now? I like him!” 

_ Who is she talking about? _ , Billy thought.

“You’ve gotta know why and when and how. Now, tell me!” Max’s voice. 

_ She’s so nosy. _

There was a groan. Billy couldn’t tell who from. Y/N, he guessed. It was quiet for a moment. He was just about to knock when--

“I thought he was such a jerk, at first. Robin told me about his fight with Steve Harrington that one time. I just knew he must’ve been the worst.”

Billy racked his brain. Had anyone else fought Harrington? Not that he’d heard. Surely, someone had.

Max’s corny laugh. 

“Yeah, I used to think so too.” Definitely Max.

“It wasn’t until winter break that I started looking--seeing him differently. Those times he’d help Susan in the kitchen when she didn’t even ask.” That sounded like Y/N.

_ Oh shit, they’re talking about me. _

“When he’d help explain things to you that I couldn’t. That look on his face when you read your final draft to us. He was genuinely proud of you. He was soft and kind. Nothing like that person I was afraid he was.”

_ Ok, maybe not. _

“And those times we went on a drive to give you some thinking room? Or went out to Melvald’s to get you more supplies? He’d crack jokes the entire time. Ask me about my family. Put in one of his favorite new cassette tapes. I guess, somewhere along the way, he just started to mean a lot more to me.”

Max screeched.

“You two will be just like Romeo and Juliet!” She yelled.

Billy rolled his eyes. 

_ Of course, she’d say something like that. _

“Max! They both died!”

_ Y/N, keeping Max in touch with reality.  _

“Not in my version! They lived happily ever after and their parents got over it.” 

“As amazing as your story is, Max, life isn’t like that,” Y/N said on the other side of the door.

“But it could be! You won’t know until you try.”

“No way. I’m not even his type,” Y/N said. She sounded...disappointed? He must have been imagining it.

_ What is my type? _

“And what is his type?”

“Girls like Heather Halloway and Nancy Wheeler.” Billy couldn’t hear the rest. 

“That wasn’t your fault!”

Billy filled in the blanks. She must have been talking about what happened at the party. He couldn’t listen anymore. He wasn’t about to let her beat herself over what happened. He knocked loudly to give them time to pretend they weren’t just talking about him.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, ladies,” he said with a crooked smile.

Both Y/N and Max were trying to keep their faces straight. Y/N looked suddenly bashful. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. Max, on the other hand, was red in the face. Her gaze danced from Billy to Y/N and back.

“We were just…” Y/N began.

“Chatting!” Max finished. “Ya know, girl talk!”

Billy smirked. Some cover.

“I hate to keep you from your gossip, Maxine. But we’ve got to get going. The parents will be home soon.”

Y/N stood quickly, hands tucked away in the oversized sleeves of her pullover.

“Right. Uh, thanks for coming over. I have a thank you for you before you go, Billy.”

The siblings made their way to the front door; Y/N went off into the kitchen. When she returned, she held a carefully wrapped pie in her hands. Her parents emerged from the living room.

“It’s just a little token of thanks: sweet potato pie. We were going to garnish it with candied pecans like we usually do, but we weren’t certain about food allergies in your home. If you find it’s missing a little something, feel free to stop by again and we’ll whip some up for you,” Janine said with a smile. 

“Thanks so much, Mrs.Y/L/N. It smells delicious,” Billy said. It smelled more than delicious. It was nostalgic. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ending is a little dry, but more will be revealed soon! comments are my favorite thing in the world :3


	10. when memories are bitter and sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past hits hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't hate me! this chapter is itty bitty. the next one will be very long and i didn't want any other scenes to distract from what goes on in this chapter. next one will be over 2k words, te prometo <3
> 
> warnings: angst, allusions to unhealthy home life

Billy was quiet on the ride home. He was caught up in his own thoughts, his feelings. As much as he wanted to mull over what Y/N had said to Max about him, the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg was too distracting.

“And where have you two been?” Neil asked just as Billy and Max walked through the door. Despite his obvious time in the sun, Neil was just as frigid as ever. Susan bustled about quietly in the background, no doubt avoiding any possible conflict. 

“At my friend’s house. They gave us this!” Max rushed, eagerly holding up the freshly baked pie. 

“Well, isn’t that nice,” Neil conceded, eyeing Billy suspiciously. “You took your sister out to see some friends?”

“Yeah,” Billy said flippantly. He could feel his father’s heavy gaze on him. No doubt, he was searching his face for answers to unasked questions. His father rarely ever prevented him from going anywhere. Parties, games, dates. He rarely had to sneak out. But his father almost always greeted him with a dozen questions about his behaviour and whereabouts. This time, however, Neil only grunted in reply. Perhaps, the effects of a pleasant trip with his wife still lingered.

“I’m turnin’ in early. G’night,” Billy muttered.

  
  


Billy stood beneath the steaming cascade of water. Skin red from the heat. Hair drenched and dripping. Shampoo and soap suds long gone down the shower drain. His eyes were screwed shut against pounding water and the persistent memories flooding through his mind. He had to get it together before Neil started to bitch about wasting water. 

_ That fucking pie. _

It was a kind gesture. He was grateful, truly. He hadn’t even endeavored to try a slice. But the smell of it. The memories came rushing back.

* * *

Billy stood at the counter on a stepstool. He wore an apron tied around his waist. As it was much too big, the fabric came nearly to his ankles. His bowl-cut hair was pinned back with tortoiseshell clip, upon his mother’s insistence. Slowly and carefully, he poured heavy cream into the bowl. His mother, standing beside him, stirred the orange mixture before them. 

“That’s perfect, Billy. You’re doing wonderfully.”

Billy smiled at his mother’s praise. They were trying a new recipe this time. It was one she had learned from a friend from North Carolina: sweet potato pie. It was the first time they had made a pie together. Plenty of times, they had baked cookies, cakes, and brownies. This was a new endeavor for the duo. 

Baking together had become therapeutic, an escape from everything around them. In the kitchen, everything made sense. 

Sugar made things sweet. Flour made things dry. Sprinkles made things pretty. 

The pan went in. The timer went off. Yummy things came out.

On those days when his ears were filled with the sounds of someone else’s rage and someone else’s sorrow, there was always the solace of the kitchen. It was a special place where time and conflict seemed not to exist. It was someplace just for him and his mom.

His mother handed him a small, glass bottle filled with dark liquid.

“That’s called vanilla extract,” she said. “The recipe calls for just a quarter of a teaspoon. Can you measure that for me?”

Billy nodded. With a careful grasp, he poured just a few drops of the strong-smelling stuff into the proper spoon and then into the batter.

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

They continued to work in pleasant silence. His mother hummed occasionally. A tune he knew, but couldn’t name. Billy’s mother’s gentle hands guided his as they filled the pie shell. She smiled at his encouragingly as he cut out leaf-shaped garnishes from the leftover dough. 

Before long, the pie was browning in the oven. The air filled with a mouth-watering array of smells: vanilla, cinnamon, ginger, and clove. His mother had promised that, once the pie had cooled, they would share a slice with a big scoop of ice cream. 

Unfortunately, Neil had come home that night in one of his moods. It wasn’t until he was snoring loudly that Billy and his mother had snuck downstairs to share a piece of pie with an extra big scoop of vanilla ice cream.

* * *

Billy had no idea how long he’d been in the shower. To his mild surprise, no one had come banging on the door to get into the bathroom. When he finally left the heat and steam of the room, the rest of the house was quiet. The hallways were dark. The bedroom doors were closed. 

He padded to his own bedroom to change into his pajamas. When he was certain that everyone was in bed for the night, he crept into the kitchen. The pie was sitting on the kitchen counter. A few slices had been cut from it. Quietly, Billy cut and plated a slice for himself.

Back in his room, he shut the door. He sat down on his bed with a sigh and stared at the plate in his hands. The crust appeared home-made, the edges marked all around with the tines of a fork. The filling was a rich sandstone color, speckled with clove and nutmeg. Carefully, he took a bite. He could taste the sweet potato, the vanilla, and the salt of his tears.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so short! i sorry!


	11. all business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evidence is mounting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: very, very brief mentions of drugs and sexual assault. No graphic descriptions of either.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: the only legal knowledge i have comes from criminal minds, law and order: svu, and crime podcasts. there are gonna be some mistakes regarding legal jargon, but i'm doin my absolute best.

Y/N’s parents moved forward with pressing assault charges against Tommy Haynes. Given his age, he was not initially taken into police custody. He was relegated to house arrest. It was up to his parents to ensure that he completed his schoolwork. Naturally, Tommy’s absence from school and talk from those that went to the party set Hawkins ablaze with gossip. 

“I totally saw Tommy do a line at the party. He was high as a kite.”

“Y/N was minding her business the entire time! She doesn’t even know Tommy.”

“He went after her because she would never date a loser like him.”

“She was leading him on!”

“Y/N is a very nice girl. It’s a shame something like that happened to her.”

“I think she was the only sober one at the party.”

Everything changed when the forensic results came back from both the assault and the earlier vandalism.

  
Flo dropped a hefty manila envelope onto Hopper’s desk.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking up.

“It’s from the lab. Sent with overnight delivery,” Flo replied.

“Shit.” Hand-delivered lab results meant some sort of match had been made. A match that required immediate attention from law enforcement. He had a hunch about what the rushed lab results would say before he opened the packet.

Hopper ripped into the envelope. His eyes quickly scanned the results and the summary of the analysis. Unfortunately, the fingerprints left at the scene of the vandalism were not found in the system. However, strands of hair caught in the masking tape were a match to hair and blood samples lifted from Y/N’s torn clothing. 

“Son of a bitch,” Jim swore under his breath. “Powell!”

Officer Calvin Powell strode into Hopper’s office, donut in hand.

“What is it, Chief?”

“Wanna help me bring in that Powell kid?”

Powell couldn’t help but smile. It would be his pleasure.

  
Hopper didn’t have to turn on the lights of the squad car as they zoomed down Main Street. They didn’t have to take Main Street. There were plenty of backroads. He didn’t have to turn on the blaring police sirens. And when he and Powell speedily parked in the Haynes’ driveway that morning, Hopper didn’t have to use a megaphone. He did all those things that morning.

“Thomas Chancellor Haynes, come out with your hands up!” Hopper bellowed, looking smug as neighbors stepped out of their front doors to see what the ruckus was about.

Hopper gave Officer Powell the honors of cuffing Tommy and reading him his Miranda rights. Tommy’s mother’s face was streaked with tears and bewilderment as her son was hauled into the back of the car. His father was red-faced and furious. He urged his son not to say a word until he’d called the family’s lawyer. Tommy was stoic, his face impassive. 

* * *

Neil Hargrove sat at the breakfast table reading the Saturday paper. Billy and Max sat on either side of him, quietly eating the meal Susan had made for them. Susan leaned against the counter, waiting for the second pot of coffee to brew. 

“Patrick Haynes called me last night,” Neil said, not looking up from the sports section.

The room was quiet, except for the percolation of the coffee maker. Neil didn’t like to be interrupted.

“Cops arrested their son last night.” Neil looked back and forth between his children. “Picked him up for ‘assaulting’ that friend of yours.”

Max suddenly became very interested in her food. Her gaze was steady on the floral pattern of her plate. Billy rose and stood at the counter with his stepmother.

“That coffee ready?” he asked.

“What friend?” Susan asked, handing a mug to Billy. She knew better than to leave Neil’s statement unanswered. He didn’t like that either.

“That Y/N girl. Apparently, she was at the New Year’s party and got a little in over her head. She’s claiming Tommy assaulted her,” Neil scoffed. “Guess she regretted her time with Tommy and made up a little story to cover up her shame.”

“She’s not making it up!” Max’s face was florid. 

“You watch your tone, Maxine," Neil growled.

She said nothing, resolving instead to loudly scrape her fork along the plate.

* * *

Robin parked her Jeep with a sigh. She hoped the news she had for Y/N would bring her even a small bit of comfort. She worried the hair band around her wrist. This had to stop. First, the mural her best friend had spent so many hours on had been destroyed. And then the night of the party. How much could one person take?

Michael opened the door when Robin rang the bell. He was dressed in slacks, Oxford shirt, and suede jacket.

“Fancy date?” Robin asked as she walked into the home. Michael pulled her into a light hug.

“The missus and I figured we’d let you girls have the place to yourselves. These next few weeks are going to be awfully taxing. Especially, on Y/N. We thought some time with a friend might help her through it.”

Robin smiled faintly. She hoped so too. 

“Robin!” Y/N exclaimed as she descended the stairs. She pulled her into a tight hug. “Ready for our annual slumber party?”

“That depends. You got the goods?” Robin asked with a quirk of the brow.

Y/N scoffed.

“Girl, I went to Blockbuster today as soon as they opened. I got Back to the Future, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and Footloose. The question is, do _you_ got the goods?” She nudged her friend playfully.

Robin reached into her duffel bag and revealed a box of Bagel Bites and a bag of Cool Ranch flavored Doritos.

“And there’s more where that came from,” she said with a grin.

Y/N returned the smile.

“This is why we’re friends.”

Robin clutched her chest dramatically.

“You mean it’s not my endless wit and charm?”

Janine came downstairs, putting in a pair of gold earrings.

“You girls have fun tonight. Try not to eat too much sugar, alright? It’s no good for your teeth,” she warned.

“Yes, Mom” and “Yes, ma’am” were recited simultaneously. Neither girl wanted a lecture. 

“That’s my girls.” She gave each a kiss on the top of the head. “We’ll be back Sunday morning. If you need us, page us or your aunt and uncle. We’re staying at their house after our double date.”

“You girls be good!” Michael called as left the house and entered the chilly winter air. 

“We’ll try not to burn house down!” Robin called after them.

**(Recommended Listening - “End Credits” from Raiders of the Lost Ark ) **

  
As the credits from the first film of the night rolled, Robin decided to address the elephant in the room.

“You know, Tommy’s parents posted his bail. He’s back at home.”

Y/N draped a fleece blanket around her shoulders. She pulled it snug around her before she answered.

“Yeah. Officer Powell has been keeping us updated on the case. He says it’s gonna go to trial since he plead not guilty.”

Robin nodded.

“Think you’re ready for that? Testifying?”

Y/N shrugged. 

“I have to be. The lawyer has been going over everything with me. What happened, what the defense might ask, how to cope with everything. I’ve already been talking to a therapist.”

Robin scooted closer to her friend. She affectionately bumped her shoulder against hers. 

“And you’re stuck with me. I’ll be here every step of the way,” she said.

Y/N gave her friend’s hand a squeeze.

“Thanks, Rob,” Y/N breathed.

“I do have some news for you. Something even your lawyer might not have told you.”

Y/N looked at Robin quizzically. She turned to face her fully, curious about what information she might have to share.

“You know my uncle, Walton? The black sheep of the family I’ve told you about?” Robin began.

“Uh, yeah. I remember.”

“Well, he’s the black sheep because everyone in my family is a creative. Artist, musician, comedian. Uncle Walt? He’s a lawyer,” Robin said. 

  
She said it with the enthusiasm of someone telling a scandalous secret. Y/N was just confused.

“Uh, that's cool, Rob. What’s that got to do with the case?” she asked.

“He’s just not any lawyer. He’s Tommy Haynes’ defense attorney,” Robin revealed. “And when I lied and told him I wanted to follow in his footsteps as a lawyer, he gave me intel about the case.

“Tommy Haynes turns eighteen next week. So, they’re trying him as an adult. That means he won’t be going to juvie or given community service. If he’s found guilty, he’s going to prison. “

Y/N’s jaw dropped. That was, indeed, information that the lawyer had not shared with her.

“Wait, there’s more. There isn’t just your testimony and DNA evidence against Tommy. There’s a witness.”

“But, no one else saw anything. They were all watching the ball drop,” Y/N said.

“That’s right. But someone did see you after everything that night, right?”

“I mean, yeah. Billy Hargrove.” Y/N’s eyebrows rose as she processed what she’d just said. “Oh my god.”

Robin nodded, encouraging her friend’s realization.

“If he’s on board, he’ll testify on your behalf.”

“Oh my god,” was all Y/N could say.

“Y/N, Tommy’s gonna get put away for a long time.”

* * *

Once again, Neil and Billy Hargrove were brought into the station for questioning. Neil was, of course, furious when he'd gotten the phone call from Jim Hopper. For the second time, his son was being brought into the station for something involving that Y/N girl. He nearly wanted to leave Hawkins altogether.

  
The next morning, Billy and his father walked into the station. This time, both came as they were. No khakis or sweater vests in sight. Neil had neglected to bring in a plate of Susan’s homemade lemon bars. Instead, Neil bore a wary expression, mouth pulled into a slight frown. Billy, on the other hand, seemed just as nervous as he had when he’d first walked into the building. Hopper had a hunch that Billy hadn’t shared all of the events of that night with his father. He didn’t want to cause the boy any trouble, but they had a case to build. 

  
"I'm sorry to bring you all here again, Mr. Hargrove. Especially on the weekend," Hopper began. “But there is someone who would like to speak to your son regarding a case that’s going to trial.”

  
The three stepped into Hopper’s office where someone was waiting.

  
“Neil, Billy, this is Celine Goodman. She’s an attorney on a case involving two individuals that you all are acquainted with,” Hopper said. 

  
Celine was a woman with immense presence. She’d grown up in Indianapolis and done to Yale to study law. Working in a male-dominated field had made her resilient and quick on her feet. She didn’t tolerate nonsense or disrespect. She had yet to lose a case. When this one landed on her desk, she’d been intrigued. After looking at the evidence, she decided that she would pursue charges of harassment, hate crime, assault, and attempted rape. Billy’s testimony would be of the utmost importance.

  
She extended a hand to both father and son.

  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Billy, it’s you I’d like to speak to today,” she said as she shook his hand.

  
Neil stiffened.

  
“I’m not leav--.”

  
“Mr. Hargrove, I understand your discomfort as a parent. However, it is imperative that your son be entirely honest with me. I find that is most plausible when parents are not present,” she interrupted.

  
Neil’s face grew red.

  
“Miss, I will no--.”

  
“Chief, would you please see Mr. Hargrove out? I’d like to get started,” she said.

  
Hopper rubbed a hand over his beard to hide the smirk from creeping onto his face.

  
“It would be my pleasure, Ms. Goodman. Neil?” Hopper gestured to the door.

  
Neil hesitated, but thought better of causing a scene. The sooner all this mess was over, the better.

  
It was just Billy and Celine.

  
“Mr. Hargrove, have a seat.” Celine sat behind Hopper’s desk. 

  
Taking a seat, Billy took in the woman before him. She seemed to be all business. She wore a power suit with prominent shoulder pads. Her hair was pinned into a conservative bun. She opened a tan folder and began laying out various color photographs and medical examiner’s documents.

  
“I think I know what this is about,” Billy said.

  
After separated the documents into neat piles, Celine looked up.

  
“Oh, that much I’m certain of.” She paused for a moment to study him. She looked intensely at his expression, his attire, his body language. 

  
Billy shifted beneath her gaze. She was much more intimidating than Hopper.

  
“Mr. Hargrove, I’d like you to testify against Thomas Haynes.”

  
_Well, she doesn’t beat around the bush._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all, remember when i thought this was gonna be a short lil fic? yeah, not happening. i've got at least 5 more chapters in me. hope that's cool <3


	12. the world is a stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: i really don't know much about legal stuff, ok? seriously. BUT, I used this source (http://2ndcircuit.leoncountyfl.gov/teenCourt/resources/JudgeScript.pdf) as a model for the courtroom scene. hopefully, it's more or less accurate! i tried to add a teeny bit of flair to it so it didn't feel too generic.

“I’m sorry--what did you say?” Surely, Billy hadn’t heard her correctly. She couldn’t possibly be asking him to _ testify _.

Celine smiled patiently. She was accustomed to this. A little shock. A little pushback. But if she wanted a witness, then she got a witness. She had a case to win.

“I would like you to testify against Thomas Haynes on behalf of Y/N Y/L/N. I understand that you and she are well-acquainted.” Ms. Goodman tilted her head to the side, measuring Billy’s reaction to her words. He was fidgeting, rubbing his palms on his pant legs. He looked everywhere but at her. He’d be an easy sell.

When Billy hesitated to reply, Celine continued.

“Mr. Hargrove, do you understand the gravity of what happened to Ms. Y/L/N? She has been verbally harassed. And when she went to the police the first time, they were unable to even identify a probable suspect. Then, she was brutally attacked by the very person who had harassed her.” Celine’s voice rose. “Wouldn’t you like her to get justice? Wouldn’t you like her to feel safe? Wouldn’t you like to see her attacker punished for what terrible, awful things he did?”

Billy’s head spun. 

“Yes! Yes! Ok? Yes, I want her to get justice and for Tommy to get locked up and whatever. Yes! What the hell am I supposed to do?” His head swam. When his father had told him they were needed back at the police station, he was so sure that this would be the end of things. Hopper would apologize for ever suspecting either one of them and thank them both for helping them close the case. Then, he’d be able to move on with his life.

_ Wrong _.

He was caught in the middle of it all.

“I just need you to tell the judge and a jury of your peers about what happened on December 31st,” Celine said dulcetly. 

“Wait, like in one of those cop shows? I’m gonna have to talk in front of all those people? Get cross-examined and all that?” Billy didn’t like where this was going.

Celine nodded.

“Yes, the trial will take place in the Hawkins courthouse. It is possible that the defense--that’s Tommy’s side--will ask you a few questions,” Celine replied evenly.

“In front of, like, family and friends?” Billy asked.

She nodded again. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Billy said, shaking his head in response. He scoffed as he thought over Celine’s words. 

_ I’m not doin’ this shit. _

Celine raised a meticulously-shaped brow.

“Why the sudden change of heart? What happened to _ justice _ for your _ friend _,” she challenged. “The defense could easily cross-examine Y/N until she’s a sobbing mess and the jury could decide to let Tommy walk. Is that what you want?”

Billy ran a hand through his hair. He bounced his leg on the linoleum floor.

“It’s not that simple,” he confessed.

Celine leaned back in the desk chair. She bit the tip of her pen and studied Billy with a vulpine gaze.

“It never is. Go on,” she urged with a wave of her hand.

Billy mirrored Celine’s pose. He spread his legs wide and huffed a sigh.

“What do I have to tell you?” He groaned.

“Everything you’ve got. The defense will dig up anything they can on you and your family. Tommy’s family is fighting this hard. We have to be prepared to hit back even harder. So, start from the top.”

“I met Y/N through my sister, Maxine. She was doing this volunteer art class for Girl Scouts or whatever. I would pick Max up every week,” Billy began. 

Celine penned some notes in elegant longhand. Billy peered at her notepad. She was drawing a diagram of relationships. A line connected his name with Y/N’s.

“Then she started tutoring Maxine at our house. Saw her even more.”

Another line. This time, connecting Max and Y/N.

“So far, I haven’t heard anything complicated,” Celine sighed.

Billy crossed his arms.

“You said ‘start from the top’, lady,” Billy retorted.

“That I did,” she replied. “Go on.”

“Y/N came to our house so Max didn’t have to worry about a ride. But it made things...tense, sometimes. My father is--he’s an asshole. And a total racist, ok? He buys into conspiracy theories and nationalist ideas. All that shit. He thought Y/N was a bad influence on Max.”

Celine put down her pen, making sure to cap it securely first.

“Let me get this straight. Your father thinks that Y/N, the decorated Girl Scout home-schooled by her mother, is a bad influence?” 

“Yup.”

“And how did he react when Y/N showed up at his doorstep the night of the party?” Celine’s voice was coy. She expected a salacious reply.

“He doesn’t know,” Billy confessed.

“Oh?” She raised a brow. “How’d you manage that?”

“He and Susan--my stepmother--were out of town. Max was at a friend’s house. I took Y/N home before anyone got back.” Billy shrugged.

“How much does your sister know?” Celine pried.

“She’s heard the rumors. And I took her to see Y/N when she got back from the hospital. They’re real close,” Billy said.

“And you and Y/N? Are you two..._ close _?” 

Billy scowled. They could only be but so close. Not that he wanted more. Not really. Not at all. Even if she liked him…

“We’re friends,” he said firmly.

Celine smiled knowingly. 

“Uh huh,” she replied, swirling more notes onto the pad in front of her. “A forbidden friendship. A prejudiced parent. And an act of selflessness that will really save this case. _ Perfect. _” 

Billy frowned.

“I’m not following. What ‘act of selflessness’,” he asked. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

Celine smiled at him. She tilted her head and looked at him like he was a puppy dog doing something cute.

“You taking care of her, silly. You witnessed the gravity of her injuries, took care of her, and took her home. All without your mean father knowing. The jury will eat it up.”

Billy listened silently. The way Celine was going on...it didn’t sound like this was about justice. The more the spoke, the more excited she grew. It seemed like she was preparing for a show, a performance. And now he was about to be an actor.

* * *

  
  


The next day, Y/N sat in Billy’s seat. Celine penned more notes onto the same legal pad. Her lacquered nails clicked against Hopper’s desk as she thought. They had been going over Y/N’s testimony all morning. She had recited it forward and back. She answered the questions that the defense would likely ask. She listed names and details with as much accuracy as she could.

“I want you to recite your testimony again. But, this time, I don’t want you to focus on how you were uncomfortable with the alcohol and ‘teenage debauchery’,” Celine said with air quotes. “Start out with the pleasant things. Tell the jury about seeing your friends, dancing to the music, eating snacks. Then, steer the narrative to what happened with the Haynes kid.”

Y/N nodded. She only hoped that she could remember the notes that Celine had given her. They would be asking her so many questions. She’d already been warned about the things they might try to use against her: going to the party alone, wearing a skirt, not telling anyone at the party what happened.

“I got to Heather Holloway's house after ten o’clock. The party had already started. Michelle Jackson opened the door. After I greeted my friends, I called my mom to let her know I had arrived safely. I told her that I wouldn’t stay late--.”

“Let’s leave that part out. We don’t want anyone to misconstrue the information. The defense might try to say that, by leaving later than you planned, you were having a good time or being dishonest with your parents. Start again,” Celine prompted.

Y/N sighed. She felt a tension headache building behind her eyes. The sooner the trial was over, the better.

“I got to Heather Holloway's house after ten o’clock…”

  
  
  
  


The trial began the next Monday. Hawkins’ weathered courthouse was packed to the brim with the town’s citizens. It seemed that all of Hawkins had eyes and ears on the ordeal. Everyone in attendance had some reason to be emotionally invested in the case. They’d played baseball with Tommy or joined Girl Scouts with Y/N. They’d had their computer problem fixed by Y/N’s father or gone to PTA meetings with Tommy’s mother. The case had brought anyone and everyone together. 

In the benches sat Joyce and Jonathan Byers, Robin Buckley, Scott Clarke, Chief Jim Hopper, and Officer Calvin Powell. Dustin and Max wanted to be there, but their parents had all insisted that their education was just a little more important. Y/N’s parents were present, as were Tommy’s. Tommy sat with his lawyer. He was dressed conservatively in khakis and a button-up. No doubt trying to play up the boy-next-door air. Y/N sat with her own lawyer, Celine Goodman. Her mother had recommended she wear something that made her feel like herself. She wore a powder blue blouse, wool pencil skirt, and Keds sneakers. Her favorite outfit. Onlookers chatted amongst themselves in hushed towns, bouncing theories and rumors around. 

The jury silently shuffled in. The room fell quiet as the bailiff announced the judge’s entrance.

“Order! All rise for the Honorable Judge Engel,” he called.

The judge entered the chambers and took a seat.

Judge Wallace Engel was another familiar face in Hawkins. He presided over the majority of local cases given how small the town was. His typical cases involved more minor transgressions: traffic violations, marijuana possession, or property disputes. This case was on its way to being one of the largest in his career. Depending on how the trial fared, Judge Engel would start the next year in retirement. Perhaps, in a senior villa in Florida or a remote cabin in Michigan. 

“Everyone but the jury may be seated. Mr. Whitmore, please swear in the jury,” the judge said.

The bailiff began to swear in the jurors. Twelve people, six men and six women, individually placed their hand on the book and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. Jury selection had been one of the most difficult aspects of the trial (so far). The goal of an impartial jury had been difficult to achieve. It seemed that nearly everyone in town had strong feelings about the events that had transpired.

“You may be seated,” said Bailiff Whitmore.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it is your duty to discern whether the defendant is guilty or not guilty based solely on the facts and evidence presented to you on this day. The prosecution has the heavy burden of proving the guilt of the defendant beyond a reasonable doubt. This burden weighs on the shoulders of the prosecution throughout the trial. The prosecution must prove that a crime was committed and that the crime was committed by the defendant. Be advised, if you are not absolutely certain of the defendant’s guilt, then reasonable doubt exists and the defendant _ must _be found not guilty.” The aging judge paused, both for effect and take a sip of water. “Mr. Whitmore, what is today’s case?”

Bailiff Whitmore stepped forward.

“Your honor, today’s case is that of Y/L/N versus Haynes.”

The judge nodded. He took another sip of water and cleared his throat. He looked out into the courtroom.

“Is the prosecution ready,” he asked.

Celine Goodman rose. She looked like a lioness ready for the hunt. Her hair was slicked back into a low bun. Her nails and lips were painted the color of blood. Her tailored skirt suit was the color of the night sky, a deep and dark blue.

“Yes, Your Honor,” she said with a sure smile.

“Is the defense ready,” asked the judge.

Robin’s supposed uncle stood. He pushed his dark-rimmed glasses further up on his nose. 

“Yes. Yes, Your Honor,” he breathed.

Robin shifted in her seat. She crossed her fingers, hoping that Celine Goodman’s next words would be as powerful as they needed to be.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made this mood board months ago and keep forgetting to add it to the end of each chapter. no spoilers, only aesthetic https://www.pinterest.com/mushwrites/respect-and-responsibility/


	13. the men and women merely players

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first witnesses are called to the stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: friendly reminder that i have limited legal knowledge. but i tried my best to do some research to make this accurate and believable. 
> 
> content warnings: mentions of racism

“Ms. Goodman, are you prepared to present your opening statement,” came the judge’s warbling voice.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Celine assured. She pressed both hands on the polished wood table and rose slowly. She stood straight and tall as she strode toward the jury. The steady click-clack of her pumps punctuated each step. Measuredly, she locked eyes with all twelve of them as she spoke. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, over the course of these three days, I will ask you to look deep inside yourselves. Yes, I will present to you physical evidence and witness testimony. I will show you photographs and graphs. But, perhaps more importantly, I will ask that you examine your own conscience, your own morals.” She paused, watching the faces of her audience. Both the jury and the crowd that had gathered in the courtroom. 

Celine had garnered quite a reputation since her recent arrival in Hawkins. After only a few days in town, she had gained the nickname “Spitfire Celine”. She had been seen and heard all around town, making phone calls or visits to anyone she thought might be helpful to the case. She was determined.

“I will ask that you question what it is that you believe is just and unjust in this world. It will be uncomfortable work, but it will be for the good of the victim, Y/N Y/L/N and our community. I will prove to you all that Tommy Haynes is, without a shadow of a doubt, guilty of the charges of harassment, committing a hate crime, assault, and attempted rape. Thank you.”

After another measured glance around the courtroom, Celine strode back to her seat.

“Mr. Buckley, are you prepared to present your opening statement,” asked the judge.

“Yes, Your Honor,” answered Walton Buckley, Robin’s uncle and Tommy’s lawyer.

He stood and pulled on his tweed blazer. He took a moment to remove a handkerchief from it and wipe his glasses clean. He stepped forward, finally ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will hear a number of  _ compelling  _ testimonies from the prosecution. They will make allegations, use conjecture, throw around lots of technical and legal terms; but the fact of the matter is; only two testimonies really matter. Those of my client, Tommy Haynes, and his  _ alleged _ victim, Y/N Y/L/N. I ask that, as you consider the evidence presented, you remember that only two people in this courtroom know what happened that night. The rest is just conjecture. Thank you.”

Mr. Buckley lacked the chutzpah and pizzazz of his counterpart. Nevertheless, what he lacked in oomph, he made up for in book-smarts. He was notorious for pulling out laws and loopholes long-forgotten by less erudite attorneys. Rather than passion and emotion, he relied on logic and fact to make his arguments. 

Only time would tell which method would prove effective this time around.

“Prosecution, you may call your first witness,” announced Judge Engel.

Celine Goodman stood again. She took her time gathering a few notes on her desk, penning a few lines in the margins. 

“Thank you, Your Honor. I call to the stand Scott Clarke.”

A murmur arose from those seated in the courtroom. In all the gossip that had spread about town, none of it involved Mr. Clarke. Even more so, Celine hadn’t mentioned a charge of vandalism. The only crime Scott had been witness to, it seemed.

“Will the witness please come forward and be sworn in by the bailiff?”

Scott Clarke placed his left hand on the book and raised his right hand. He swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. He then made his way to the witness stand. Hands folded tightly in his lap, he looked especially nervous.

Celine, on the other hand, had never looked more self-assured. She strode from behind her desk, head held high. 

“Mr. Clarke, will you please describe what you saw that day at Hawkins Middle School?”

He nodded. He took a careful sip of the water in front of him, mouth already dry from nerves. He cleared his throat before he began.

“Uh, I went to the school early to set up for some AV club activities. The door was locked that morning. Because I’m always staying late with my students, I have a key to the school. I was carrying a bunch of boxes and things to and from my car. But after a few trips, I noticed that the mural from the after-school art class had been defaced. It was slashed and covered with hateful words and images targeting Y/N Y/L/N,” he said.

“And who was the specific target of the vandalism, Mr. Clarke,” Celine asked.

Walton Buckley rose to his feet.

“Objection, Your Honor. That is conjecture. The mural was not vandalized with a specific name of image of an individual and Mr. Clarke was not present when the crime was committed,” he said.

“Rephrase your question or kindly move on, Ms. Goodman,” directed Judge Engel.”

Celine smiled, seemingly unfazed.

“My pleasure, Your Honor,” she strode to a Kodak projector that had been wheeled in before the court began session. The flicked on the machine and laid a transparent film of the reader.

“I present to you exhibit A, a photograph of the mural immediately after it was completed, juxtaposed with a snapshot of the mural taken by Hawkins police after Chief Jim Hopper and Officer Calvin Powell arrived on the scene. Given the images that  _ defaced _ the mural, what  _ kind  _ of person was targeted, Mr. Clarke?”

“A Black woman or girl. Judging by the words and images used,” Scott Clarke answered.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Clarke,” Celine said as she returned to her seat.

“The defense may cross-examine the witness,” warbled Judge Engel.

In the audience, Joyce Byers worried her lip between her teeth. Mr. Clarke was town to be an intelligent, albeit, flighty individual. The sort to get a bit frazzled if treated too harshly. Joyce hoped he could keep his composure. 

Walton Buckley approached the witness stand.

“Mr. Clarke, have you ever heard those heinous words from the mural used to describe any other kind of people?”

“Some of the words, yes,” he answered.

“So, it is possible that the words were meant for someone else,” asked Mr. Buckley.

“Sure, but I can’t imagine who.”

“Mr. Clarke do you know every student that was enrolled in the art class?”

“No, I do not,” Scott replied.

“So, there may have been Black, female students in the class?”

“Yes, it is possible,” he answered.

“Let me remind the jury that none of the charges that my client is accused of include vandalism or destruction of property. That is all, Your Honor,” Walton said as he returned to his seat.

“Mr. Clarke, you may step down,” directed the judge.

Scott did just that, and with a hurry. His face was red; his temple glistened with sweat. If anyone had looked closely, they would have noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

“Prosecution, you may call your second witness,” said the judge.

“I call Police Chief James Hopper to the stand,” Celine declared.

Hopper was sworn in and settled into his chair. The old wood creaked under his frame as he adjusted his shirt collar.

“Chief Hopper, will you please describe the scene when you and Officer Powell initially approached,” Celine requested.

Hopper gave a stately description of the call he received from Scott Clarke that morning. He went into detail as he illustrated the reactions of both Mr. Clarke and one of his best officers. He, then, went on to detail how the artwork was taken down and collected as evidence.

“Chief Hopper, was any forensic evidence found on the mural,” Celine asked. She handed the jury a copy of the results from the forensics lab. The projector still presented the images of the mural.

Hopper nodded as he scrubbed a hand down his cheek.

“It took a few weeks, considering all the DNA found on the mural. Some stray prints and hair samples. But, the lab returned with a positive match on a full fingerprint found on the tape of the mural,” he answered.

“And who did that fingerprint belong to?”

“Tommy Haynes,” he answered, pointing to the person in question.

“Let the record show that Chief James Hopper has identified Thomas Haynes. Thank you, Chief.” Celine returned to her seat.

It was Walton Buckley’s turn again. The tension in the courtroom grew. Hopper and Walton had butt heads a few times over the years. Hopper would cuff a guy, Walton would find some (legal) way to get them off scot-free. Hopper hoped and prayed that this case wouldn’t be more of the same. When he thought of Y/N, he thought of Eleven. He wanted his little girl to grow up in a world where bad guys got punished for bad things. How could he promise to protect her if this case slipped through his fingers?

“Chief, how many different fingerprints were found on the mural,” Walton asked.

“Oh, I dunno. It was certain--.”

“Thirty,” interrupted Mr. Buckley. “Thirty individual prints. How can anyone be certain which belonged to the vandal?”

“You can rule out everyone in the class, Walt,” Hopper answered.

“Thank you, Chief. That was rhetorical.”

Hopper scowled. Walton Buckley was typically a bit of a turtle of a man. Slow, steady, and rather boring. But, there was something about being in the courtroom that brought a fire out of him. Jim couldn’t stand him.

“Is it possible that Mr. Haynes' prints appeared on the mural  _ before _ it was vandalized,” Walton asked.

“It’s unlikely,” Hopper replied.

“But possible?”

“Yes.”

Walton paced around the courtroom. His trial confidence beginning to straighten his shoulders, lift his chin.

“Chief, are there security cameras in Hawkins Middle School?” It was an empty question, asked only to prove a point. Everyone knew there were no cameras. The school could hardly afford to keep the place in good repair, much less equipped with anything much beyond padlocks. Walton knew that, too.

“No, there are not.” Hopper’s face sank into a scowl.

“So, there is no definite proof that Mr. Haynes vandalized the mural?”

“His fingerprints,” Hopper retorted.

Mr. Buckley offered a smug smile. Hopper wanted to punch it right off him,

“One in thirty,” Walton reiterated, “That is all, Chief.”

Hopper trudged back to his seat. Joyce patted his hand sympathetically. He tried to look a little more optimistic than he felt, for Y/N’s sake. After all, she was sitting there watching the whole ordeal unfold. 

“Ms. Goodman, you may call your next witness,” droned the judge. 

Celine Goodman stood. She stood and she paused. Anyone who didn’t know her well would assume that she was moving with uncertainty, hesitant to make a decision. Y/N didn’t know her terribly well, but the two had gotten fairly acquainted during the hours-long session they had spent preparing for the trial. She knew that look in Celine’s eye. She knew that change in her posture, the way she glided forward. She was preparing her next move, calculating.

“Please, Your Honor. I would like to request a recess.”

The sound of the heavy wood gavel rang through the room. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so nervous to start the trial scene, but it's been so much fun to write! hopefully it's been fun for y'all to read! feedback is welcome and encouraged <3


	14. badgering the witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A key witness takes the stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: this chapter contains racial slurs, descriptions of assault and attempted sexual assault, mentions of teenage alcohol consumption, and victim-blaming
> 
> If any of this may be triggering or deeply troubling to you, please take care of yourself and skip this chapter

Y/N stood with her left hand placed on the book and her right raised in the air. Despite her steady breathing, both hands trembled.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth or so help you,” asked Bailiff Whitmore.

“I do,” Y/N breathed. It came out softer than she meant it too. She couldn’t help the feeling that her throat was slowly closing.

She took her seat on the witness stand. She sat rod straight, ankles crossed, hands clasped in her lap. The clothes she wore felt too hot, too tight, too heavy. The courtroom, despite its tall ceilings and large windows, felt suffocatingly small. She took a careful sip from the glass of water in front of her. It didn’t help.

Celine Goodman approached the stand. She gave Y/N a reassuring smile. They had rehearsed this time and again. She was confident that the teen would do well. She wouldn’t ask anything about the vandalism. Buckley had nearly destabilized the entire argument. But, as the judge had allowed it, the jury would still have that evidence to consider. 

“Thank you for being here today, having the strength to testify. I know that this has been quite an ordeal from the very start,” Celine said kindly.

Y/N bit her lip. The ordeal still wasn’t over.

“I’d like you to tell me about that night at the party. What happened?

Y/N took a deep breath. This was it, everything they had prepared for.

“I got to Heather Halloway’s house after ten o’clock. The party had already started. Michelle Jackson opened the door…” she recited, just as she had practiced. Her friend, Michelle, sat in the courtroom in support. “I saw a few other friends. From class, from Girl Scouts. I just kinda mingled for a little while.”

The courtroom was dead silent has she recited her testimony. There had been plenty of gossip, speculation about what had happened that night. Now, they were getting the whole story straight from the source.

“What was the atmosphere like? Paint a picture for us,” Celine followed.

“There weren’t any chaperones there, like I thought there would be. It was just teenagers chatting or dancing. There was lots of music. The Halloway’s have a home stereo system. So, you could hear the music in every room. There was food, snacks and stuff. There was alcohol, too.”

“And did you consume any alcohol that night,” asked Celine.

“No, ma’am. I don’t drink,” she replied.

Celine strode to the projector machine and replaced the clear, gel slide.

“Please note the next piece of evidence: a copy of the blood tests from the medical exam performed after the assault. In the highlighted section, you will find that no alcohol was found in her system,” Celine explained.

Walton Buckley sat watching critically from his seat. All the while, his client, sat silently. Arms crossed. Expression bored and uninterested. 

“What else happened that night? What did you do with friends?”

Buckley stood with a huff.

“Objection, Your Honor! This line of questioning does not directly pertain to the charges against my client,” he stated.

Celine fought back a smirk.

“On the contrary, Your Honor. These questions are needed to establish the events of the night in question, as there are few other witnesses present to testify,” she countered.

“I’ll allow it, Ms. Goodman. But, please, do get to the point. This isn’t storytime,” from Judge Engel.

Celine nodded to the judge before returning gaze to her client. She gestured for her to continue.

“For a while, I just sat around with my friends and ate a little bit. I don’t really go out to this kind of thing, so I was unsure about what I should do. Michelle convinced me to get on the dance floor. We must have danced for a few hours.”

“And how do you know that? Were you--oh, I don’t know--wearing a watch,” Celine asked.

“No, I wasn’t,” Y/N began.

Celine returned to the projector. She replaced her previous slide with another.

“Please observe the following evidence: photographs of each article of clothing worn by my client that night.” She gestured to Y/N. “My dear, please continue.”

Y/N nodded shakily. She tried to avoid looking at the images of her bloody and torn clothes. The images took her back to that night. The fear, the desperation. Her heart began to pound loud in her chest. She felt a sweat begin to break out.

“I could tell it was getting late because Heather gave us all party hats and noisemakers for the countdown. Everyone started to couple up for the New Year’s kiss,” she answered. 

Heather did not sit in the courtroom. But, following the incident, she and her parents had fully cooperated with the police. Heather visited Y/N the very next day with a bouquet of flowers as an apology. She had been racked with guilt the moment the news had reached her. She blamed herself for not keeping a better watch of her guests, for not keeping tabs on the party. In place of Heather sat Mrs. Halloway, right next to Y/N’s parents. 

“I went to look for a phone so that I could call my parents. I just wanted to let them know I’d be home soon, so they wouldn’t worry,” she finished.

“And why would they worry,” Celine asked.

“I’m usually not allowed to go out to stuff like that. Especially if there aren’t any parents there to supervise. And after the vandalism, my dad was super worried about my safety. But, my mom wanted me to have the chance to experience the things other kids do. Even if they aren’t into it, parties and drinking.”

Michael and Janine sat in the benches with bated breath. They, more than anyone, had been wrought with guilt. They had allowed their daughter to go out that night. They had insisted she call them. They hadn’t been there when she needed them. Her father had decided that if Tommy wasn’t put in jail, then they would move. If the boy had escalated from vandalism to assault, there was no telling what he might try. 

“What happened next,” Celine asked.

Every single person sitting in the room was silent. Even Tommy looked up from the floor to give his undivided attention. Robin bit her lip and bounced her leg in nervousness. Even she hadn’t heard the full story for fear of upsetting her best friend. Joyce gripped both Jonathan and Hopper’s arms to keep herself above water. Her stomach turned at the thought of what she would hear next.

Y/N took a deep, shaking breath to keep herself calm. Her breakfast from that morning threatened to return in the back of her throat. It had been one thing to discuss the attack behind the closed doors of the police station. This was a different obstacle entirely. Her reddening eyes flickered around the room. She peered at her nervous parents. Her father’s face was stricken. She looked over at Chief Hopper. His brow was low, arms crossed tightly across his chest. She glanced for a moment at Billy. He had been watching her all the while. When their eyes met, he gave her a gentle smile.

_ I can do this.  _

“I found a phone in the home office. It was quiet enough in there that my parents would be able to hear me over the noise of the party. Before I dialed the number, someone walked in,” she began.

“Who was it that entered the room.”

“It was him,” Y/N breathed. She pointed to the one seated across.

“Let the record show that my client has identified Thomas Haynes,” Celine stated. “Go on.”

“I had seen him around the party earlier. But we didn’t speak. I don’t know him. But when he walked in, he asked me to give him his New Year's kiss.”

Celine motioned for her to continue.

“I told him ‘no’ and to go find his girlfriend, Carol. I just wanted him to leave me alone. He was drunk.”

Again, Walton Buckley stood.

“Objection, your Honor! There are no medical records to substantiate the claim that my client consumed even one drop of alcohol,” he huffed.

Judge Engel pushed his glasses further down his nose.

“Sustained. The jury will disregard.”

A small murmur rippled throughout the courtroom. It was the first objection that the judge had allowed.

“What happened next, Y/N,” Celine asked.

“I tried to ignore him. I just wanted to call my parents and go watch the ball drop with everyone else. But, I guess he didn’t like that,” she said bitterly. “He shoved me and grabbed my shirt. Ripped it open. I tried to fight him off. I yelled for him to stop. No one could hear me. He knew that. When I kept fighting him, he started saying really mean things. He said that I was only as good as my body. He called me--he called me a  nigger . That’s when I heard everyone cheering in the other room. The countdown was over, but he wouldn’t just  _ leave me alone _ . He said that all ‘my kind’ understands is violence and sex. Then he tried to push my legs open. I did everything to fight him off but he’s just so much bigger than me. So...I hit him in the head with a stapler and tried to run.”

At that, Janine lost her composure. Her face crumpled with sobs. Michael pulled her into his arms and did his best to console her.

“What happened next,” Celine pressed.

Y/N took a big, gulping breath. This was the hardest part.

“He grabbed me, tackled me. He said that he knew I wanted it rough. He slammed my head against the floor, punched me in the face. Then, he ripped my skirt. He said it would look better around my ankles…” she sniffled. “When he started to take his pants off, I knew I had to get away as fast as I could. No matter what. So, I headbutted him and ran.”

“Please go on, Y/N,” encouraged Celine. 

Y/N nodded. She could do this. It was almost over. Almost.

“I couldn’t think straight. I hit my head pretty hard. So, I just ran right out the door. I was so scared that he would come after me again. I didn’t stop until I got to the Hargrove’s, the closest house I knew.”

In the audience, Neil Hargrove fixed his son with venomous glare. His son had more to do with this case than he thought. He would have some choice words for the scoundrel when they got home.

“Billy answered the door. Honestly, I remember anything else from that night. But, when I woke up, Billy had cleaned my face and pulled sweats over my clothes. He drove me home that morning.”

Celine offered her a warm smile. She would have given her a hug, but that would have been improper. Instead, she hoped all her pride and admiration was visible in the genuine smile she gave her.

Neil offered his son a look of disbelief. He hadn’t heard a thing about any girl being in his house that night. And that it hadn’t been some secret date? He could hardly believe it.   
  


“Mr. Buckley, you may cross-examine the witness,” said Judge Engel. 

When Walton stood, Y/N’s stomach dropped. She had hoped, prayed that the defense would let just her testify and leave her alone. No such hope.

“I’m terribly sorry that your recollection of the night was such a traumatic one, Ms. Y/L/N.”

She didn’t reply. It wasn’t a true apology. He wasn’t really sending her his condolences. It was back-handed and callous. She knew it would only get worse.

“Tell me, why did you choose the outfit you did on that night? It was awfully cold that night, wasn’t it? I believe it was below freezing,” Buckley remarked.

Y/N shrugged.

“My friend and I picked it out,” she answered, finally looking at the images on the projector screen. “Those are cool right now--ra ra skirts.”

“‘Cool’? So, it’s safe to say that you wanted to fit in, yes?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“You were willing to brave the cold to fit in?”

“Um, I guess so. Yes. I was inside most of the time. So, I wasn’t in the cold much.”

“Except when you walked--in the cold--to the Hargrove home. Is that correct,” Buckley continued.

“Yes.”

“And why did you go to the party in the first place? If I understand correctly, your parents weren’t too enthused about the idea of you attending a raucous house party.”

Y/N shrugged again.

“I just wanted to feel like a normal teenager, I guess. Not so sheltered, not so perfect. Just like everyone else,” she replied. 

“I see. And what else did you want to happen that night?”

“Uh,” Y/N hesitated. She wrung her hands. She had a feeling that this was a trick question. “Just to have fun. To get home safely.”

“You didn’t want to get a little tipsy while your parents weren’t there to supervise?”

“Wha--no! I don’t drink. It’s against the rules,” Y/N answered firmly.

“Isn’t partying against the rules,” Walton asked. “You did that, didn’t you? But you expect us to believe that you drew the line at drinking? You sure you weren’t there for some other ‘teenage experiences’, too? Maybe a hook-up or two?”

“No,” Y/N mumbled. Her throat grew tight. “My parents gave me permission to go. I didn’t do anything else.”

“You didn’t--oh, I don’t know-- _ make out _ with anyone? Flirt, a little bit?”

Celine stood, brow wrinkled.

“Objection, Your Honor. How does this pertain to what my client endured that night?” 

Judge Engel considered for a moment.

“Get to the point, Mr. Buckley,” he finally answered.

Walton held up his hands in surrender. He would get to the point and straight to it.

“Is it possible that your encounter with my client was entirely consensual? Maybe just a little ‘rougher’ than you were expecting?” He straightened his shoulders and looked down his glasses at the girl he questioned.

Y/N’s jaw slackened. Celine had warned her that the defense’s questions may verge on intrusive. But, this? Her stomach turned. Her face heated with embarrassment. Tears began to build behind her eyes. She could see the courtroom exit. It took everything in her not to bolt straight toward it. 

“Answer the question, miss,” urged the judge gently. 

The courtroom was quieter than a crypt.

“No,” she breathed, nearly breaking into a sob. “I didn’t even want to talk to him! I could I even--how would I--.”

"Making up a wild story of a violent, drunken attempted rapist is quite the cover for a disappointing night with my client. And then playing the race card? That's a very nice touch." Buckley cleared his throat and fixed his tie.

The dam broke. Y/N collapsed into sobs. Her shoulders shook as all of the sadness, frustration, and fear burst from her in the form of salty tears. She hadn't even wanted to testify. Celine had told her that there was enough forensic evidence and testimony from other witnesses to substantiate the case. However, she had also told her that her testimony would greatly increase the chances of a guilty verdict. So, Y/N heeded Celine's advice and taken the stand. Now, she was regretting it.

“Your Honor, my client is clearly distraught. I request a recess,” declared Ms. Goodman.

The sound of the wooden gavel meeting its rest filled the courtroom. 

“Let’s break for lunch, everyone,” declared the judge.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. a matter of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another important witness takes the stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: description of injuries
> 
> friendly reminder that all of my legal knowledge is from the tv and the internet
> 
> moodboard: https://www.pinterest.com/mushwrites/respect-and-responsibility/

As soon as the gavel sounded, Y/N was out of her seat and flying from the courtroom. Her Keds scuffed against the tile floor as she rushed into the bathroom and sank onto the floor of an empty stall. Her head spun. Her heart pounded. This was a rollercoaster that she wanted so badly to get off of. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any more painful, something else terrible happened. It would be so much easier if she could just pack her bags and drive until her car ran out of gas. 

A gentle knock on the metal door interrupted her tangle of thoughts.

Y/N rose slowly to her feet. She hurriedly wiped the tears from her face and opened the door.

“Hey there, pal,” said Robin with a soft smile. She held up a packet of face wipes and a bottle of cold water. “Thought you could use these.”

Y/N smiled in spite of herself. Robin was always there when she needed her the most. Including when tears were smudging her mascara.

Comfortable silence followed as Y/N took deep sips of water. She tidied up what was left of her makeup and cooled her face down with a damp paper towel. When Y/N’s breathing finally slowed, Robin spoke up.

“How are you feeling?”

Y/N sighed.

“Pretty terrible,” she replied, a lump forming in her throat. “Your uncle isn’t very nice.”

Robin plunked down on the sink.

“I never really liked him. He’s the black sheep for a reason,” she chuckled. “But, now you’ll never have to talk to him ever again. Just ignore him like my grandpa does.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. She guessed that Buckley family events were pretty awkward with Walton around.

“Thanks, Rob. I don't know what I would do without you.”

Robin reached out to give her friend’s hand a comforting pat. 

“You’d be fine. Just a little more lame.”

  
  
  


Y/N’s father ordered Zorba’s to be delivered to the courthouse. There was no way he wanted to be away from his little girl, even for a second. Once the session had been adjourned for lunch, the parking lot began to fill with delivery cars from all around town. Dozens upon dozens of people had taken off work or gone in late to see the trial. Phones were ringing off the hook for orders of pizza, cold cuts, and shawarma.

In a small office at the end of a quiet hallway, Y/N, Robin, and their parents sat over plastic containers of Greek food. The four ate among cautious small talk and murmured words of comfort and support. Fried layers of phyllo dough and warm, melted cheese provided just a bit of solace to what had been a tumultuous morning. 

Stomachs were full and every possible reassurance had been said. Tears were dried and warm embraces had been shared. The Buckley’s and Y/N’s parents trickled from the room, all deciding that a little alone time was paramount before the trial resumed.

Y/N sat curled in a plush leather chair. The office, with its heavy door and wood-paneled walls, muffled nearly all of the noise of the courthouse. How she wished that the fireplace in the room was for more than decoration. She yearned for a weighty blanket and something fresh-baked and sweet to take her away from this nightmare. Three days--that’s how long everyone expected the trial to last. She wasn’t sure she could make it that far. Would she even sleep?

A quiet knock on the office door startled her from her thoughts. She cleared her throat and braced herself for who was to enter.

“Come in,” she called, embarrassed at how her voice quivered.

Billy Hargrove crossed the doorway. He closed the door carefully. His eyes met hers with hesitance.

**(Recommended listening: "Waiting For a Girl Like You" - Foreigner)**

“Uh, hey,” he rasped. He stood just in front of the door, rocking his feet.

Y/N jolted up in her seat. Of course, Billy would come by when her face was puffy. He looked just as perfect as he always did. He still wore his signature light wash jeans. His hair was coiffed flawlessly. Rather than a flannel shirt or plain white t-shirt, he chose a simple white button-down. The top two buttons were undone and the sleeves were rolled just below the elbow. Two silver necklaces rested beneath his collar.

Y/N’s heart pounded loudly in her chest.

_ Oh my gosh, he’s here to talk to me. Alone. He wants to talk to me alone. Is his shirt open? His sleeves are all rolled up and his hair--. He’s looking at me. I must look like such a mess after all my mascara washed off. My eyes are probably so puffy right now. That’s not important, right? Who cares? I don’t. Does he care? Oh, gosh. Wait, he’s walking towards me. He’s saying something. Snap out of it, snap out of it! _

“Is now a good time,” he asked, clearly oblivious to the storm of thoughts whirring through her head.

Y/N nodded dumbly. He took a seat in the leather chair beside her. He leaned towards her, elbows resting on his knees.

“I, uh, I just wanted to check on you...after all that. I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay, ‘cause I know you’re not. But are you, uh, functioning?” The words he chose seemed not to be the ones he wanted to say. However, his bright eyes looked filled with concern and caring. To make up for the words he didn’t know how to say, he reached out and gently took her hand. He traced the back of her hand with his thumb.

“I’m alright, I guess. Better, now that you’re here,” she breathed. She hadn’t meant to say that last part. 

_ Maybe just a little bit. _

She continued, “I wanted to thank you again for all that you did that day. For taking care of me. And for agreeing to testify today, in front of your  _ father. _ ” She shook her head in disbelief.

Billy gave her a crooked smile. He looked his usual, confident self but his reddening cheeks gave him away.

“You’re the bravest chick I know. It’s the least I can do. There is a way you can repay me, though,” he said as he stood up and adjusted his sleeves.

Y/N squinted her eyes in suspicion. Billy was always up to something. 

“You and your mom have got to make another one of those pies,” he said with a smirk.

Y/N smiled, so big and so genuine that the corners of her eyes crinkled with mirth. She drew Billy just a few inches closer by their again-intertwined hands.

“Deal.”

Billy leaned down to her seated height. Her eyes widened as his face crept mere millimeters from hers. She was suddenly awash with the familiar scent of peppermint and his nameless cologne.

“I’d better go, sugar. Wouldn’t want anyone to think we’re in here  _ conspiring. _ ”

She was left alone with just a few minutes to steady her racing heart. Though, now, it galloped for a different reason entirely.

  
  
  


Court reconvened. Everyone’s stomachs just a bit fuller, nerves just a bit calmer. Y/N sat beside Celine, the latter rubbed the former’s arm affectionately. The worst was over. Parents and various other prominent members of the town once again occupied their seats in the benches. Though, Chief Hopper and Officer Powell left during recess to return to the precinct to address non-related police business. 

Judge Engel, now reinvigorated after the tuna melt from Buddy’s Diner, rang the gavel loudly through the courtroom.

“Court is in session,” he called. “Is the prosecution ready to present their next witness?”

Celine rose from her seat.

“Yes, Your Honor,” she answered confidently. “The prosecution calls William Hargrove to the stand.”

A murmur rose among the audience. Y/N and Robin knew that Billy was going to testify, but no one else was aware. Including, Neil Hargrove. Neil kept a deceptively cool exterior as his son was sworn in and took his place at the witness stand. Billy, on his part, looked just as nonchalant as always. He sat back in the chair, legs outstretched and relaxed. He looked as if he was lounging at a friend’s house.

“Billy, were you at Heather Halloway’s New Year’s party,” Celine asked.

“No, I was not,” he answered clearly. 

Celine nodded.

“Where were you that night? Was anyone with you?”

“I was home alone. My parents were on a trip and my little sister was at a friend’s house,” he answered.

“Let it be known that the whereabouts of each member of the household have been corroborated by various witness accounts, as well as financial and travel records,” she asserted, eliminating any chance of Walton Buckley poking holes in Billy’s testimony. “Did you see my client that night?”

“Yes, I did,” he answered. He glanced at Y/N for the most minute of moments. She sat, rapt by his words.

“Tell us about that night, please,” Celine requested.

Billy rubbed his chin. He had to get the details, the timeline just right. He would do everything in his power to ensure that Tommy got what he deserved.

“I stayed in that night to enjoy having the house to myself, something that  _ never  _ happens. I watched the ball drop on TV and just lounged around the house. After, like, an hour or so, I heard some banging on the front door, sometime around one,” he described.

Celine began to pace slowly about the courtroom. She passively observed the jurors’ expressions, gauging their reactions to the trial.

“Did you answer the door,” she asked.

“Not at first. I thought it was some weird nighttime salesman or a group going around sharing ‘the gospel’. The knocking didn’t stop, though, so I answered,” he continued.

“Who was at the door, Billy,” she pressed.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he answered, gesturing to the girl he named.

“Let the record show that the witness has identified my client,” Celine declared. She turned to Billy. “What condition was she in?”

Billy ran a hand over his face. He kept his eyes off of his father, afraid of what he might see there. 

“She looked... _ awful _ ,” he confessed. “Her nose was bloody. Her face was black and blue, like she’d been in a fight. It was freezing cold out but she didn’t have on a coat or anything. Her clothes were all torn and bloodstained. And her shoes and legs were spattered with dirt and mud like she’d run through a field. I asked her what happened and she just said she didn’t know where else to go. And then she passed out.”

Walton Buckley sat back in his chair. His face was set into a deep frown. His client, Tommy, sat beside him. The redness of quiet rage spread from his chest to his face. His hands clenched into tight fists in his lap. Y/N sat, wringing her hands. She hadn't heard this part of the story before.

“And then what happened?”

“I panicked for a second,” he admitted. “All I knew was that something awful happened to her and she needed help. So I--I carried her inside and just laid her on the sofa. She had all this blood on her and I thought she was bleeding. So I got her out of the really torn and dirty stuff and put her in some sweats.”

“And what did you do with the soiled clothing, Billy,” Celine asked. 

“I put them in a big Ziploc bag. Her shirt was trashed but I figured some of it was still salvageable,” he replied.

Y/N watched nervously as Celine gravely walked back to her seat. Rather than sit, she pulled out a clear evidence bag. 

“Please observe the following evidence: the attire worn by my client the night of the assault.” Celine placed the bag on a table near the jury. She then marched to the projector to lay another sheet of evidence on the glass. “Please also note the forensic evidence gathered from the clothing. On the material, two separate blood samples were identified. One belonging to my client, the other belonging to the assailant.”

Buckley stood in a haste.

“Objection, Your Honor! The presence of blood does not corroborate the witnesses testimony,” he asserted.

“On the contrary, Your Honor. This forensic evidence directly relates to my client’s testimony, as well as that of the witness presently on the stand,” Celine challenged.

“I’ll allow it, Ms. Goodman. We can’t argue against DNA,” the judge conceded. “Go on.”

“The lab found not only traces of Thomas Haynes’ blood, but hair fibers as well. This finding is consistent with the testimonies of both my client and present witness.” She gestured to Billy, who still sat at the witness stand. “Please go on.”

“The whole time, she didn’t come to. I was afraid she had been drugged or something, but her breathing was normal. So, I just wiped off her makeup and cleaned up her cuts. Wanted to make sure she wasn’t bleeding out or anything.”

“My client arrived bloody and bruised at your front door well past midnight. Why didn’t you call the police,” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Billy ran his fingers through his hair. His chest heaved with a guilty sigh. 

“I wanted to. I didn’t know if she was sick or seriously hurt. But...I, uh, was afraid the cops would call my dad.”

Celine turned to face the witness, feigning ignorance.

“And why were you afraid of that,” she asked.

“He wouldn’t take it very well,” he admitted. “He doesn’t really like Y/N or people like her.”

“What kind of people, Billy?”

The courtroom was silent. Those in the benches waited for Billy’s reply. Neil had a bit of a reputation around town. He was impatient, short-tempered, and dead set on maintaining the manicured appearance of the perfect suburban dad. Most folks knew better. But would Billy be honest?

“Black people,” he answered hesitantly.

Neil’s face grew red. He wrangled his countenance, keeping it neutral as a number of people turned to look at him. He kept his head held high. Any other reaction would only make matters worse. 

“And what would he have done if he had found out,” Celine continued.

“Pfft, he would have lost his shit,” he chuckled.

“Watch your language in my court, young man,” warned the judge.

Billy ducked his head sheepishly.

“Sorry, Your Honor. Won’t happen again,” he said, biting back a smirk.

Celine smiled to herself. Billy was doing an excellent job. If her instincts were correct--and they usually were--the jury would find Billy likeable and trust-worthy. His demeanor and nonchalance would allow him to appear more credible to the jury.

“Billy, do you ever tell you father of the events of that night?”

“No, ma’am,” he answered.

“Is it safe to assume that he found out today in court?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Celine smiled warmly. To the jury and others in attendance, it likely appeared to be a polite gesture, a ‘thank you’ to one of her most important witnesses. Rather, it was a smile of triumph. The trial was moving along even better than expected so far. Just one more witness and this case would be unbreakable.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slow update! i've been dealing with school and personal matters. next chapter won't take so long!


	16. what is it worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prosecution calls its final witness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: medical descriptions of injuries, allusions to abuse (domestic and otherwise)

Judge Engel cleared his throat wetly.

“Mr. Buckley, you may approach the witness,” he warbled.

Walton stood and straightened his jacket. Over the course of the afternoon, his face had settled ever deeper into a sour frown. Celine, on the other hand, sat beside her client looking very much like a cat who had finished a bowl of cream. Still, she watched Buckley with sharp eyes, ready for anything he might have up his sleeve.

“Mr. Hargrove, you have quite the reputation amongst your peers. Some even call you the ‘Keg King’,” he said, fingers bending to imitate quotation marks. “Is it like you to miss out on a party?”

Billy shifted in his seat. Celine had advised him to be honest. However, she had also warned him that Buckley may make underhanded comments about him or Y/N. Billy weighed answering Walton’s question with a question. Or telling the man what he really thought of him for defending a disgraceful piece of trash. But he knew that any loss of temper would only hurt Y/N’s case. That was something he could never do to her, not after she had already been through so much. He resolved to set his own ego aside, for her sake.

“No, I never miss a good time,” he answered finally. 

Buckley quirked a bushy, grey brow.

“But you missed out on the New Year’s party,” he questioned.

Billy bit back an exasperated sigh. 

_ How many times is he gonna ask me the same question? _

“I did not attend the party,” Billy answered measuredly.

Walton rubbed his chin in a parody of pensiveness.

“That’s odd of you, isn’t it? You have somewhere better to be?”

“Yeah,” Billy said firmly. “At home. _ Alone _. Wasn’t in the mood for confetti and noisemakers.”

Walton meandered back to his desk and picked up a legal pad. He took his time leafing through his notes.

“There’s no chance that you had a date that night? Perhaps, with the girl you were seen with at Lookout Point?”

Billy couldn’t restrain the snort of laughter. How was he supposed to remember?

“I’ve been with a few girls at Lookout Point,” he said with a smirk.

Walton grinned, unnervingly. In the afternoon light of the courtroom, his teeth seemed just a bit sharper, eyes just a bit more vulpine. He suddenly seemed a hunter whose prey had walked right into a snare trap.

“And was one of those girls Y/N Y/L/N on the snowy evening of December 27th,” the lawyer asked.

Billy faltered. Buckley had caught him off guard. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “We were helping my sister with a project and she needed some time to concentrate. So, we drove out there to give my sister some space...to get some air.”

Buckley strode around the courtroom. He looked at the jury while he asked his next question. 

“‘_Air _’? Did you get anything else while you were at Lookout Point? Like you, that part of town has quite the reputation,” he oozed.

Celine stood abruptly.

“Objection, Your Honor!”

Judge Engel sighed.

“Stick to asking questions, Buckley. You’re not here to hypothesize.”

“I apologize, Your Honor.” Walton turned to face Billy. “Were you at Lookout Point that night for a date with Y/N Y/L/N?”

“No, I was not,” Billy answered.

“When she arrived at your doorstep that night, she was not there for risqué activities?” 

Billy clenched his jaw to keep from swearing at the man in front of him. How dare he insinuate that anything else had happened between them night! Y/N had taken the stand and been honest and vulnerable. Buckley was victimizing her all over again.

_ This asshole… _

“No,” Billy ground out. “She was covered in dirt and blood and passed out in my arms.”

“Is there a romantic relationship between yourself and the plaintiff?”

_ God, how many times am I gonna have to answer this shit?_

“No, there is not,” he answered with a sarcastic smile.

“Mmhm,” Buckley hummed. He removed his glasses and rubbed the smudges around with his ill-fitting shirt. He placed them back on the bridge of his nose before he continued. “Permission to redirect, Your Honor?”

“Granted,” replied Judge Engel.

“Mr. Hargrove, what is your relationship to my client, Thomas Haynes,” Walton asked.

“We grew up together. Used to be real good friends,” Billy answered.

Buckley’s brows rose in surprise.

“‘Used to be’? Are you two no longer acquainted?” He persisted.

Billy’s expression clouded.

“No, we’re not close anymore,” he stated plainly.

“That’s strange. Something major must have happened. And recently. You two were seen together just before Winter Break looking most friendly.”

Billy shrugged. Celine had warned him only to answer direct questions, not to correct any of Buckley’s theories. It was a common tactic of his. He wasn’t about to fall for it.

“Did you see my client after the night in question?” Buckley tried a more direct approach. He took a few steps toward the witness stand.

“Yes,” Billy answered.

“Where did you see him?” Buckley moved ever closer to the stand.

“At the record store across from Starcourt Mall,” he answered with a shrug.

“And at that record store, did you _ assault _my client?” Buckley stood directly in front of Billy. He stared him down, challenging him to be so bold as to lie on the stand.

Billy smirked. He couldn’t be outsmarted that easily. He knew a thing or two about criminal law. Celine knew more than just a thing or two. She stood suddenly.

“Objection, Your Honor! No criminal charges have ever been pressed against the witness,” she asserted.

Judge Engel looked sternly to Walton Buckley.

“Stick to the case at hand, Mr. Buckley. One trial at a time,” he warbled.

“Did you choose to ‘rough up’ my client?” Buckley frowned.

Billy shrugged.

“Some words were said. I lost my temper,” he admitted.

“What was discussed that had you so upset, Mr. Hargrove,” asked Walton with feigned sympathy.

Billy sat back in the chair and crossed his arms. If he wasn’t careful, his temper would boil over. He could still see the look on Tommy’s face when he’d asked him about the party. His smile had seemed so reptilian. His posture preening and pompous. The way he had described the events of that night to him...it made him sick. It had been a pleasure to punch the grin off his face. He would have done worse if he’d thought he could get away with it. 

“He told me about the party. About Y/N,” he answered reluctantly.

“Did he tell that the two of them had a consensual encounter?

Billy clenched his jaw.

“Yes, just not in those words.”

Buckley nodded, seemingly pleased with Billy’s answer. He made his way back to his seat, next to Tommy.

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” he concluded.

“You’re all finished, son,” said the judge.

Billy let out a deep breath. He had done it. He had kept his temper. He had told the truth and nothing but. He hoped it was enough.

Billy glided from the stand and toward his seat, next to his father. His stride almost faltered when he spotted the look on his father’s face. Neil’s brow furrowed deeply, casting his deep-set eyes in shadow. His mouth was set in a severe line; his arms were tightly crossed. Billy knew that look. He would get an earful later. Maybe worse.

Neil fixed his son with a fearsome glare when he sat down.

“We’ll talk later,” he said into his son’s ear.

Billy kept quiet. It didn’t matter what his father said or did to him. What mattered was that Y/N was one step closer to getting some justice. If he got an earful or black eye because of it, then so be it.

The murmuring of the courtroom died down to a whisper as Celine Goodman stood tall once again. She stepped forward, adjusting her blazer for a moment.

“Your Honor, I call Doctor Caroline Li to the witness stand,” she stated confidently.

Y/N hardly recognized Dr. Li as she approached the bailiff to be sworn in. Rather than dull scrubs and a crisply-pressed white coat, Caroline wore a tailored dress and pumps. Her features looked much warmer in the natural light of the courtroom than they did in the harsh fluorescents of the hospital. Her hair was teased and curled; her smile dazzled. 

The moment she took the stand, she was all business. 

“Doctor Li, thank you for leaving your duties at the hospital to testify before the jury today,” Celine said graciously. 

Caroline nodded and smiled.

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

“Doctor, please describe the day my client arrived at the hospital for treatment,” Celine requested.

“That morning, I was seeing patients. We had been busy that day treating minor burns caused by fireworks, injuries sustained while intoxicated, and other typical New Year’s Day cases. There was a pair of police officers in the waiting room,” she described.

“Is that unusual,” Celine asked.

Caroline shook her head.

“Not at all. Two or three of the patients I had seen that morning had been brought in by police. I thought nothing of it.”

Celine nodded. She tapped a pen on the palm of her hand as she paced the room. She had to be sure these next questions had weight. Doctor Li was her final witness. She needed this testimony to be airtight. She wasn’t about to lose to Walton Buckley.

“Please, tell me about the visit with my client,” she prompted.

“A medical assistant informed me that there was a minor coming in for mild head trauma sustained the night before. I walked in assuming that I would be treating a concussion and, perhaps, a small contusion or laceration.”

“What occurred instead,” Celine asked.

“Instead, I met the patient and her parents. Once her parents left the room, the patient informed me of injuries sustained from an attack the night before,” the doctor replied.

“And did she name the attacker?”

“Yes,” Dr. Li answered. “She named Tommy Haynes.”

A murmur went through the courtroom. The evidence against Tommy was mounting by the minute. Between an eye-witness and a medical doctor, the outlook didn’t look good for him.

Celine turned to address the jury.

“Let it be known that the witness has identified the defendant, Thomas Haynes. What happened next, Doctor Li?”

“I performed a thorough, forensic exam of the patient, with the assistance of a nurse. Samples were collected and photographs were taken for evidence,” she replied.

Celine fetched a Manila envelope from her briefcase. She opened it slowly to reveal over a dozen, full-color photographs. Rather than place the images on the projector screen, she handed them to the jury to view.

“Will the jury please observe the following photographs? These images were taken during my client’s medical exam.”

A gasp passed through the lips of one of the jurors. A grimace settled on the face of another. Nearly every juror who laid eyes on the photographs had a visceral reaction to the images before them. Walton Buckley looked on, murmuring something in the ear of his client. 

Celine waited for the jury to look at each image before she proceeded. 

“Doctor Li, will you please describe the injuries that were noted during the examination?”

“Most notable was the contusion directly below the right eye, consistent with a punch by someone right-handed,” she described. Caroline had read over Y/N’s file for days following the trial. She wouldn’t leave out a single detail.

“Objection, Your Honor! I’m sure there are other explanations for such an injury,” Buckleu stated. 

Judge Engel considered for a moment. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in thought.

“Objection overruled, Mr. Buckley. I’d like to hear the witness’ professional opinion. The jury should too,” the judge said.

Celine bit back a smug grin. The justice train was rolling down the tracks and there was nothing Walton could do to stop it, Celine thought.

“Also notable was a laceration on the patient’s lower lip. If it had been any deeper, it would have required stitches to heal properly. This wound was swabbed for evidence. It isn’t protocol, but it seemed imperative at the time to gather as much forensic evidence as possible,” Caroline continued.

“What was the result of the swab,” Celine asked.

“The lab results showed trace amounts of neomycin sulfate, polymyxin B sulfate, and bacitracin zinc,” she replied.

“And for those of us who didn’t go to medical school,” Celine asked playfully.

“Those are the active ingredients in Neosporin Ointment. Trace amounts of that and petrolatum were found in the tissue. That means that the ointment was likely applied to the lip after the wound was created.”

“So, someone put Neosporin on my client’s split lip sometime after the attack and before her arrival at the hospital,” Celine hypothesized.

“Yeah, that is correct.”

“What other injuries were present,” Celine pressed.

“The patient also exhibited one inch long contusions on either side of the neck.”

“In your experience, what causes an injury like that?”

Caroline tucked her hair behind her ear. She glanced at Y/N’s mother, Janine. She sat in the front row, looking more distressed as the day progressed.

“Bruises of that size and shape are created by wrapping a single hand around someone’s throat. In this case, it appeared to be a right hand,” she answered. “Images of each bruise were photographed for evidence. The bruises were also measured to be compared with any apprehended suspect.”

“What other injuries were documented?”

“The patient exhibited numerous lacerations on her chest and inner thighs, contusions on the left ribs, and a moderate concussion. The patient also exhibited the early signs of the frostbite on the fingers, nose, ears, and lips,” the doctor answered.

“What are some of the possible causes of those injuries,” Celine asked.

“The lacerations could have been caused by many things: fingernails, scissors, a small blade. The contusions on the left ribs were likely caused by an impact--with an object or another person. The frostbite was certainly due to exposure to below-freezing temperatures.”

“Is it possible that any of these injuries were made by my client, self-inflicted?”

Caroline folded her hands in her lap.

“One could argue that the frostbite was self-inflicted as the proper garments were not worn in such temperatures. The contusions of the ribs could have been the result of a fall, sure. The lacerations, though, were not caused by the victim herself,” she answered.

Walton opened his mouth to object, but Celine beat him to it.

“How can you be certain, Doctor,” Celine asked.

“As evidenced in the photographs, the lacerations curve to the left. The victim, my patient, is right-handed. If she had made those cuts herself--whether with fingernails or a sharp object--they would have curved toward the right, following the planes of the body,” Caroline answered.

“Thank you, Doctor Li. I have one last question for you today. Do you believe that these injuries are consistent with the purported events of that night?”

“Yes,” Dr. Li answered firmly.

“Thank you for your expert insight.” Celine returned to her seat. She leaned toward her client’s ear and quietly said, “This is going well, my dear. After court adjourns today, go home and be with your family. Take care of yourself in the meantime.”

Y/N nodded quietly. She certainly needed some time to herself tonight.

“Mr. Buckley, you may cross-examine the witness,” the judge said.

Walton cleared his throat, but remained seated. 

“No questions, Your Honor,” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s a first,” chuckled Judge Engel. 

And it was. Walton Buckley never left any bit of testimony unquestioned. Even in a case as simple as an unpaid parking ticket or a vandalized pumpkin crop, Buckley always had to play twenty questions. Today, the man sat mute, arms crossed in beige tweed and suede elbow pads.

The sound of Judge Engel’s well-worn gavel rang through the courtroom.

“Court is adjourned,” he declared. 

* * *

  
  


That evening, Y/N and her parents settled in at home. Janine made lasagna; Michael baked his renowned garlic bread. As the pair worked their magic in the kitchen, Y/N basked in the cucumber and melon aroma of a steaming bubble bath. She sank up to her chin in scalding water, imagining that the temperature was hot enough to scorch off every scar that remained on her skin. In her ideal world, she would be able to shed her skin in favor of something fresh and new. Untouched and unharmed. For now, she tried to make herself content with a good scrub in some hot water.

After she dried off in a plush towel, she swathed herself in her favorite pajamas, light blue and printed with Care Bears. She covered her feet with fluffy socks and padded downstairs. Her father unfolded three TV trays in the living room. An unusual sight, as the family always ate dinner together at the dining table.

Michael looked over at his daughter with a smile.

“Your mom and I thought we could do something a little different tonight, a little TV dinner. 

Y/N smiled back at him. Her father, a man that would do anything in the world for her. 

“That sounds fun,” she said.

Her mother came in then with a dish of lasagna and a pan of fresh garlic bread. She set the food down on the coffee table.

“Shall we?”

With the help of Janine’s special tomato sauce recipe and a particularly entertaining episode of The Cosby Show, the tension began to loosen from Y/N’s shoulders. She chatted comfortably with her parents about everything but the events of the day. In that moment, curled up on the sofa next to her mother, she felt like the girl she was before the whole catastrophe began.

The sound of the doorbell rang through the night. 

Everyone stiffened. Michael stood and approached the door. It would be safer if he answered the door.

“We weren’t expecting you,” Michael said.

Y/N craned her head to get a view of the guest, but to no avail.

“Come on in,” Michael said. His words were stiff, but warm. Whoever it was, they weren’t a stranger.

A moment later, Maxine Hargrove stepped through the door. Y/N jumped from her seat.

“Max! What are you doing here?”

Janine stood from the sofa and lightly gripped her husband’s arm. 

“We’ll be in the kitchen,” she said.

Y/N led Max into the living room to sit down. She had a few questions for her.

“Max, how did you get here?”

Max bit her lip nervously.

“Jonathan and Nancy dropped me off. I was hanging out at Will’s house. They were about to go out for ice cream and I asked them to drop me off here,” she said hurriedly. 

“So, your dad doesn’t know?”

Max winced and shook her head.

“Does Billy know?”

Max shook her head again.

“I know it was dishonest, but I had to come over! I couldn’t be there for you at the trial. I just wanted to show you I care.”

Y/N’s expression softened. She nudged Max’s chin affectionately.

“I know you care,” she said with a soft smile. “But it’s good that you weren’t at the trial today. It would have upset you.”

Max crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Not as much as I know it upset _ you _,” she said.

Y/N pulled a blanket over her shoulders.

“I’m fine. I have my family, my friends...and your brother. He’s been really supportive with this whole thing,” Y/N assured.

Max’s face lit up. 

“Oh, he has?” Her tone was laced with feigned ignorance. Y/N playfully rolled her eyes at the sound.

“He checked on me today, when we went to recess. Made sure I was doing alright,” Y/N said. Their meeting had been for only a moment, but it had left her butterflies flitting about her stomach. Even now, she could feel the warmth of his hand in hers, the gentle caress of his skin against hers. The way he looked into her eyes made her feel like she was the only one in the world. She sighed listlessly. 

“Did you tell him how you feel,” Max asked.

“What for?” Y/N looked up with wide, hopeless eyes. “It would mess up our friendship.”

Max rolled her eyes.

“Your ‘friendship’ could be something more if one of you would just say something!”

“It’s not happening, Max. I’m sorry. I know you think this is some predestined love story, but it’s not! There are really awful, hateful people out there. And if they saw me and Billy together--if he even _ wants _ to be with me--people would be a lot worse! I’m not sure I can handle that.”

Max’s eyes began to tear. Her face and chest grew red.

“Isn’t it worth it to try?”


	17. minutes before midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walton Buckley calls his witnesses to the stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: overt anti-black racism, racial slurs, allusions to sexual assault--please heed these warnings if you are sensitive to any of these subjects

The second day of the trial was met with just a little less fervor. After all,  _ someone  _ had to go to work. Hawkins wasn’t going to run itself. Each of Hawkins’ finest was thoroughly engaged in enforcing the law. Joyce Byers returned to her job at Melvald’s, though she chewed her nails with worry all the while. Michael, Y/N’s father, returned to his desk. He was sure to keep the volume of his beeper as high as it would go should his wife or daughter call him during the day. Neil Hargrove made sure to see both of his kids off to school to ensure that neither one of them snuck off to the trial. Robin reluctantly drove to school, but she made sure to give her best friend a call before she left. Around town, employees at all the local restaurants and diners were sure to have enough hands for the trial lunch break.

The court began session early the next morning. Onlookers squeezed into the worn, wooden benches with paper cups of coffee. Purses and pockets crinkled from the snacks smuggled deep within them. Voices hummed with the excitement of what day two might bring.

The bailiff spoke above the din.

“All rise for the Honorable Judge Engel. The court is now in session.”

The judge ambled into the courtroom, black robes swaying with each labored step. The jury processed in after. The members were more haggard than the day before. Their minds and hearts no doubt heavy from what they had heard and weary of what there was yet to hear.

Y/N and Celine Goodman sat at their respective table. The latter passed an encouraging note to her client that Robin had managed to slip to her the day before. Tommy and his attorney, Walton Buckley, sat at their own table. Their heads leaning toward one another. The latter muttered something unintelligible into the ear of his client. 

“Everyone may be seated,” called Judge Engel. He went about reciting the bland but necessary information to those below him. He reminded onlookers of the rules of the court and the possible consequences if such rules were broken.

As Celine had presented the entirety of the prosecution’s evidence and called each of her witnesses to the stand, it was now time for Walton Buckley to do the same. Y/N’s stomach twisted as Mr. Buckley stood. She took a shaky breath and tried to calm herself before things really got insufferable.

“The defense would like to call the first witness to the stand, Andrew Haynes,” Walton said, fidgeting with the button of another tweed blazer.

A subtle murmur came from the onlookers. Every face, many colored with surprise, watched as Tommy’s father approached the witness stand. Not unlike Neil Hargrove, he had quite the reputation around town. He laid one hand on the leather-bound book and raised the other. 

“Do you swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, or so help you,” asked the bailiff. 

“I do,” declared Mr. Haynes.

The bailiff gestured to the stand. Andrew took a seat. 

Andrew Haynes was a simple man; at least, he considered himself so. He loved what most people did--at least, he thought so. He loved his country, his God, his family, an ice cold beer, and a good ol’ game of American football. He hated what everyone else did; at least, that’s what he thought. He detested a lack of patriotism, skeptics, warm beer, and anyone who viewed things differently than he did. Just like everyone else, right?

“Mr. Haynes, please state your relationship to my client,” Mr. Buckley began.

“I’m his father,” Andrew answered.

“And how did you raise your son, Thomas, Mr. Haynes,” Buckley continued.

Andrew Haynes adjusted in his seat. He spread his khaki-clad legs and rested his hands on the arms of his chair.

“Just like how I was raised,” Mr. Haynes replied.

Walton Buckley removed his glasses. He whipped a cotton handkerchief from his jacket pocket and proceeded to smudge the glasses lenses further. After replacing his spectacles on his face he asked,

“Can you tell us more about that, Mr. Haynes?”

Mr. Haynes began to describe his upbringing with grandiose description. He told the jury of his simple farm life in a town outside of Hawkins. Of the endless acres of rolling hills and sky-high sunflowers. How, as a boy, he had spent his hours toting hay, plowing fields, and milking cows. He recounted the many days he spent with his grandparents, listening to them recount life before life began to move much fast. He described the difficult decision in his teenage years to move from the country to the bustling town of Hawkins. Of how--

“Objection, Your Honor!” Celine’s voice broke through the idyllic illustration that Andrew had been painting. Her loud interruption startled a few jurors and onlookers who had been lulled by Mr. Haynes calm recollection of his early years. “How does this pertain to what my client endured that night?” 

It was a familiar question.

“It relates to my client’s cultural background and how it affected his alleged actions that night,” Buckley cut through.

Judge Engel frowned, the expression drawing his features ever downward. This trial seemed to be aging him overnight.

“Get to the  _ point _ , Mr. Buckley,” said the judge, not the first time.

“Getting to the point, Your Honor,” Buckley replied. He turned to face the man on the witness stand. “Mr. Haynes, what values taught to you as a child did you instill into your own son, my client?”

Andrew Haynes stroked his chin in thought. 

“Naturally, I wanted my son to grow up to be a hard-worker. Wanted him to value education, have some manners, maybe play a sport or two. I taught him to respect others and show kindness,” he answered.

“And what about people who were different? Did you teach him to respect them and show them kindness too?” Buckley paced the courtroom as he spoke.

Mr. Haynes nodded.

“Of course. But, you know, some kinds of people just don’t deserve as much respect. They don’t respect themselves,” he said with a shrug.

“What kinds of people, Mr. Haynes?” Buckley’s face tightened into a smug grin. Andrew’s testimony was going just as it was planned.

“Some colored folks, you know. Each group has it’s good and bad ones. You can usually tell by looking at ‘em.” 

The courtroom was dead silent. There was neither the awkward cough nor the murmuring of rumors and theories between neighbors. In that stead was an uncomfortable tension--clenched jaws and bitten lips. Given the nature of the crimes alleged, everyone had expected to see or hear some unpleasant things. Now, it seemed that the worst was yet to come.

Mr. Haynes continued, “Hawkins doesn’t have a lot of  _ variety _ . There’s folks like you and me,” he gestured to the lawyer. “And there are Blacks. Not much else.”

Mr. Buckley nodded as the man spoke.

“And, regarding African-Americans, are there good and bad? As you mentioned before.” Walton was resting his entire defense on the Haynes’ testimonies. He had to lead his witnesses smoothly, seamlessly. He wasn’t about to lose this case to some hot-shot broad.

“Oh, yeah! There are good ones, you know. Like that cop in town. Some of those singers and athletes and actors are alright,” Andrew continued.

Just barely audible in the near-silent courtroom was the sound of Y/N’s flats tip-tapping against the worn, wood floors. Celine had told her she could wait in the lobby or one of the empty offices. She’d known that Buckley’s witnesses would cross the line. Y/N, however, wanted to prove her strength, her resolve. She wanted her attacker to have to look at her while he took the stand. But now, as his father testified, she was beginning to regret that decision. 

“And the bad ones? Who are they?” 

Mr. Haynes crossed his arms. Something in his face changed. His facade of ordinary, suburban father cracked, just a little. The lines of his face deepened into a stern frown.

“They’re the good-for-nothings: thugs, criminals, loafers. Niggers, I call them. You know the type, Buckley.”

Buckley simply nodded absently.

“And you taught your son to differentiate people in that way?”

Andrew looked at his son then. His face softened but his shoulders straightened. He gave the boy a proud smile.

“Of course, I did. You’ve got to know who’s worth your time and who’s not worth the shit on your shoe,” he replied.

Walton stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” he said. 

Celine stood from her seat. Her suit today featured sharp shoulder pads and an air of lethality.

“Permission to cross-examine the witness, Your Honor,” she asked.

“Granted,” came Judge Engel’s voice. 

Celine strode to the witness stand. Her heels punctuated her stride. Not to be outdone, Mr. Haynes sat up taller in his seat.

“Mr. Haynes, do you believe that times have changed since you were your son’s age?”

“Yes,” he answered, without hesitation.

“But you raised your son the same way you grew up, in the forties and fifties?”

Mr. Haynes considered that question for a moment. It felt like a trap, but he couldn’t see where the snare was.

“Yes,” he hesitated.

“So, you admit that you raised your son for a world that no longer exists?”

Andrew sputtered. Was she questioning his abilities as a father? 

“I raised him right,” he ground out, mouth settled into that same deep frown. “I taught him the way of the world.”

“Does your son do everything you say, Mr. Haynes?”

“Not a chance. He’s a teenager. He has his own ways he wants to do things. Wants to be his own man,” he replied. “He doesn’t always do what I want him to.”

“Is it safe to assume that he is his own person? Distinct from the boy you were at his age?”

Andrew shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Celine nodded, satisfied that she had poked enough holes in Tommy’s father’s testimony for the jury to do a little extra thinking.

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” she concluded.

“You may return to your seat, Mr. Haynes,” warbled the judge.

Andrew marched back to his seat, head held high in an effort to save face. That lady lawyer had made a fool of him, he thought.

Walton Buckley wandered back to his desk. He shuffled a few papers, glanced at his scribbled-over legal pad. Nerves and concentration manifested themselves in the incessant click cli-click of his engraved inkpen. Case notes were mumbled at whisper tones. Some onlookers shifted in their seats as the pause dragged on for a few moments too long. The judge looked on expectantly; he cleared his throat impatiently.

“We would like to continue, Mr. Buckley,” he said crossly. “If you’ve sufficiently prepared your case.”

Walton looked up as if caught. He had clearly been entirely engrossed in the chicken scratch that filled his notepad. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and straightened up.

“Forgive me, Your Honor,” he said as he took one last look at his notes. “I call Thomas Haynes to the stand.”

The words hit Y/N square in the chest. She clenched and unclenched her first as she watched Tommy Haynes saunter to the bailiff. She saw his lips move as he was sworn in, but the voices sounded thick and warped. Her head was underwater.

Tommy took the stand looking every bit of the indifferent teenaged boy he was. His parents had pull in this town and the next. Sure, he’d heard all the testimonies from the day before. He couldn’t care less. As soon as this was all over, he could get back to his life. Parties, dates, graduation in May. 

Walton Buckley began with a series of innocuous questions. He asked Tommy about what kind of student he was. He asked what his goals and dreams were for the future. He asked him if he was close with his parents, his friends. Tommy answered them all just the way anyone might have guessed. He claimed to be a great student. He told the jury of his aspiration to follow in his father’s footsteps as a successful businessman. He practically gushed over how loving and wonderful his parents were. He went on about the friends he’d maintained since preschool. If someone didn’t know better, they would have thought Tommy the poster child of suburbia. Clean-cut, modestly academic, fairly athletic, and as charming as they come. Buckley had prepared his client well.

After the jury had been sufficiently softened with innocent questions about Tommy’s upbringing and social life, Buckley decided to slide in just a few regarding the actual crime at hand.

“Tommy, I deeply apologize that you’re being accused of such heinous crimes. I know that you would much rather be in school, learning,” he said solemnly.

Tommy nodded, a hand pressed to his chest. 

“I just wanna clear my name, sir,” he said, brows upturned.

Y/N’s face grew hot. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Tommy looked like he could barely hide the smirk on his face. She wished someone would knock it right off him.

“Me too, son,” Buckley answered, “Just a few questions first.”

Walton proceeded to ask Tommy of his recollections of the events of that night. He asked what time he arrived at Heather’s. He asked who he saw there, what he did. Rather than a testimony, the banter of that night sounded like a coffee shop conversation between two friends. Tommy had the gumption to crack a few jokes here and there. A few jurors even laughed along with him. 

Y/N stared in wide-eyed disbelief as the scene unfolded. Hot tears burgeoned behind her eyes. The taste of earth-wrought iron filled her mouth as her teeth dug anxiously into her bottom lip. The nightmare just wouldn’t end.

Beside her, Celine sat still as a statue. Her eagle eyes darted back and forth between Buckley and his client, the judge, and the jury. She noted the mild look of agitation on Judge Engel’s face. She observed the relaxed and unguarded posture of Tommy Haynes. She watched the mixed expressions of the jury; their faces ranged from suspicious to amused. 

Both Y/N and Celine paid close attention when Buckley asked, “Can you tell me about your interaction with Y/N Y/L/N that night?”

Tommy smiled a smug smirk.

“What’s there to say? It was New Year’s. She wanted to give me my first kiss of the year, and a little extra. But you shouldn’t kiss and tell,” he shrugged.

“Was the encounter between you and Y/N consensual,” Buckley asked.

“Of course,” Tommy answered.

Buckley nodded, as if this reply was the only reasonable one.

“Why do you think she is accusing you of otherwise?”

Celine couldn’t have risen to her feet more quickly. Papers on the table in front of her shifted from the sudden gust of air caused by her movement. A wisp of hair drifted from its place in her coiffed French roll.

“Objection, Your Honor,” she called. 

“Sustained,” replied Judge Engel. “Stick to the facts, Buckley.”

“Alright, Tommy.” Buckley continued. “Did you give Ms. Y/L/N any reasons to make such accusations?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Maybe she’s embarrassed about her behavior. She really, uh, put herself out there,” Tommy smirked.

Buckley nodded, satisfied with his client’s performance.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Walton stated, resuming his seat.

Judge Engel cleared his throat before saying, “Ms. Goodman, I’m sure you have some questions for the witness. Is that the right assumption?”

“Oh, it certainly is, Your Honor,” Celine answered as she strode toward the witness stand. She eyed Tommy with a leonine gaze. 

“Tommy, before the night of the New Year’s party, what was the extent of your relationship with my client?”

Tommy hesitated.

“Well, uh, I don’t know. We knew of each other,” he stuttered.

“Had you ever met her before? Spoken to her,” Celine persisted.

“Uh, no. No, that was the first time we met,” Tommy admitted.

“I’d like to make sure I’ve got my facts straight, Tommy,” Ms. Goodman said with a smile. “My client initiated relations with you having known you for all of two hours?”

Behind the witness stand, Tommy began to fidget. He plucked at a hangnail along his thumb, worried a hole in the knee of his slacks. 

“Yeah,” he ground out crossly, “She probably had a few drinks.”

Celine crossed her arms and smirked.

“No traces of alcohol were found in her system, Mr. Haynes. Had you been drinking?”

Tommy muttered something under his breath.

“Answer the question, Mr. Haynes,” called the judge from his seat.

“Yes,” Tommy barked. His face grew red. Whether from embarrassment or anger, no one could tell.

“And her injuries, any idea how she got those?”

“I might’a slapped her around a few times, with her permission,” Tommy snarked.

“Because she ‘likes it rough’, is that right,” Celine challenged.

Tommy smirked.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“And how do you explain the condition of her clothing,” Celine asked.

Tommy shrugged again.

“I wouldn’t know,” he shot back.

“What about the presence of  _ your  _ blood on her clothing? Can you explain that?”

“I got a nose bleed, I guess. Didn’t notice it, though,” he brushed off. 

Celine exhaled sharply. Her patience was growing thin. It took all of her self-control not to reach over the witness stand and--

“How long was your... _ encounter _ with my client, Mr. Haynes?”

A ripple of gasps and murmurs went through the crowd of onlookers. Whatever they had expected from Celine Goodman, it wasn’t that.

“Objection, Your Honor,” bellowed Walton as he jumped up from his seat.

“Your Honor, the question addresses the timeline of events,” Celine answered.

“Overruled, Mr. Buckley. I’ll allow it, Ms. Goodman. But tread carefully,” drawled the judge. 

Celine smiled, a look deceptively sweet.

“I’ll rephrase the question, Mr. Haynes. Make it a little easier to answer,” she paused. “You said--and I quote--’I gave her the time of her life’. How long were you alone with her?”

Tommy scoffed.

“I don’t know. An hour, maybe?”

Celine retrieved her notepad and flipped through a few pages. 

“My client testified and witnesses corroborated that Y/N arrived to the party between the hours of ten o’clock and ten thirty. My client’s testimony asserts that her altercation with you began just minutes before midnight. My witness, William Hargrove, testified that she arrived at the Hargrove home around one o’clock in the morning. Let’s assume that my client, at best,  _ jogged  _ three miles to the Hargrove residence in freezing temperatures while wearing heels, bleeding, and concussed. A feat that would have taken at  _ least  _ thirty minutes, likely as much as forty-five. That means that your ‘encounter’ with her could have lasted, at most, fifteen minutes.” Celine slapped her typed case notes onto the witness stand, showing Tommy the very thorough timeline written there. “Would you like to change your testimony, Mr. Haynes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much love to everyone hanging in there with me! is the trial taking up too many chapters? it'll end on chapter 18 (upcoming) and then a time jump. comments are always coveted <3


	18. it all feels the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Testifying in front of the whole town has its repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...i know i said that chapter 18 is the end of the trial...it's not. i'm sorry. the trial conclusion is taking longer than expected. i want it to be perfect. but it will be chapter 19. i SWEAR. srsly.
> 
> in the meantime, here is a little somethin' about our boy Billy. short and not sweet.
> 
> WARNINGS: angst, ok. angsty angst with 0 fluff. child abuse/domestic violence. mentions of loss and unresolved grief. flashback.

The front door rattled, signaling the arrival of the family patriarch. The family fell silent as only the sounds of his entrance filled the air. The stomp of his boots as he kicked them off. The thunk as the boots were thrown to the side. The rattle of keys as they were dropped in a bowl on the table by the front door. The shuffle of his coat being hung on its hook. Next, and finally, his heavy sock-covered footsteps into the kitchen.

Neil Hargrove entered the bright kitchen, dimming its light with his heavy presence. He gruffly kissed his wife ‘hello’ and tossed a half-hearted greeting to his step-daughter. His eyes swiveled to meet his son’s.

“You,” he barked. “Up.”

Susan turned away, busying herself with the chili simmering on the stove. Max looked to her brother with concern. She knew that tone. They all did. Neil was fuming; Billy was about to bear the brunt of it.

Billy’s stomach dropped to the floor as he stood and followed his father to his room. Neil said nothing as he shut the door behind them and turned to face his son. Billy barely had time to get his thoughts together before the sting of Neil’s backhand met the side of his face. He blinked back stars in his eyes as the taste of copper and iron dotted his tongue.

Billy stayed mum. He knew better than to anger his father more with an apology. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to be sorry for.

Neil flexed his hand. He clenched and unclenched his fist before sailing it straight into Billy’s jaw. Billy stumbled backward, fumbling for balance. 

Neil grabbed his collar, wrenching Billy toward him and growling, “You little shit. Where do you get off parading some slut through my house when I’m not home. Humiliating me in front of the entire town. It get your cock hard spilling secrets in front of everyone? You stickin’ it in her?” 

He gave Billy a shake, the jerk of it forcing his teeth into his tongue.

“Now, I’ve got the whole town thinking I can’t control my kid. Is that what you wanted? Huh?” Another shake. “Answer me!”

Billy took a deep breath, exhaling shakily through his nose. He knew better than to talk back, better than to fight back. He used to try it, before he wisened up. It never worked out for him in the end. If he ended up with any extra bruises and scrapes, people would ask questions. It was better to take it now and reflect on it later.

“No. No, sir,” he stuttered.

Neil pushed Billy away. He dragged his hand down his face. The tension in the room crackled like static electricity. Somewhere else in the house, Susan had turned the television up loud. Something Neil always told her to do when he and Billy had to have a “talk”. He would do anything to keep the neighbors from asking too many questions.

“You must love this, don’t you? Pissing me off. Acting out. Making a fool of me. And for what? Some piece of ass,” Neil roared. He stomped back and forth around the room, huffing and puffing. He seemed not to know what to do with his hands, as he resorted to waving them to and fro as he ranted.

Billy hesitated before speaking, afraid he might make things worse.

“It’s not like that. We’re just friends--acquaintances,” he mumbled.

Neil scoffed, stopping to look at his son with disdain.

“Of course, she doesn’t want you,” he said, smirking. “You don’t got shit going for you.”

Billy fell silent as his father resumed pacing around his room. He knew what was coming next. A tirade. A rant. A lecture.

And that’s just what happened. Neil raved. He rambled and bellowed. He tossed Billy’s belongings around the room, onto the floor. He yammered on and on about what a disappointment Billy was. He called him a few names, all ones he’d used before. He insulted him all the same ways--his looks, his smarts. 

“So worthless, even your mother couldn’t stand to be around you,” he sneered.

Billy’s blood froze. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth. That was always the low blow, the one thing Neil could say that would leave him feeling worthless and insignificant. It was even worse due to the fact that Billy had never known what happened to her. She had simply gone out for a drive and never returned. 

_ It was raining outside. Of course, it was. Nothing bad ever happens on a beautiful day. Billy sat on the living room floor racing his toy cars. The stereo was playing something loud. Something Billy’s dad liked to listen to, he guessed. The music had, somehow, been louder than the fight. All the yelling and crying. The slamming of doors, the crashing of breakable who-knows-what’s on the linoleum floor. Billy’s mother fled in tears: his father stormed after her. He heard the sound of a car starting and driving away. Then, another car drove off not long after.  _

_ Minutes crawled on. The rain continued its steady torrent against the window. The cassette tape reached the end of one side. Billy sat, alone, bored of his toys and hungry for dinner. He didn’t know what started the fight. It seemed like they always did that. Angry words. Teary eyes. He didn’t understand it. But it made him sad to see his mother upset and his father so angry. So loud. So red. It was probably about him, he thought. His dad had tripped over his tape player that evening. The yelling started soon after. It had been muffled, but he’d heard bits here and there.  _

_ “He knows better.” _

_ “He’s just a kid.” _

_ “He needs to man up.” _

_ “I won’t let you do this to us.” _

_ It was his fault. He just knew it. _

It was his fault. He just knew it. He was the reason his mother left. He was the reason his father was always so furious. Everyone who came near him ended up unhappy.

He wanted Y/N to be the exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags have been updated


	19. ebb and flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter relies on mock trial scripts and other resources for reference

“Anything you’d like to tell the jury, Thomas,” Celine pressed. She leaned dangerously close to the witness stand. Her eyes bore straight into Tommy’s.

The courtroom was eerily silent. The jurors leaned forward in their seats, bracing themselves for what Tommy might reveal. Buckley stood from his chair, carefully watching his client’s body language. Trying to gauge whether his entire case was on the verge of collapse. Y/N bowed her shoulders forward, trying to become ever smaller. The uncertainty had her chest tight and her mouth dry.

“You know, Thomas,” Celine began, filling the silence. “Lying under oath is a crime. In fact,  _ perjury  _ is punishable by law. And if I can prove--and I promise, I can--that you’re lying before the jury today, the judge may call a mistrial. And if he does that, I’ll just bring this case right back to court. And maybe I’ll have some more evidence. Maybe another witness. Is that what you want, Mr. Haynes?”

Buckley threw his hands up in obstinance.

“Objection, Your Honor! She’s intimidating my witness!” Walton’s face was red; his brow furrowed.

“Sustained,” Judge Engel declared. “The jury will disregard. Cool it, Ms. Goodman.”

Celine backed away from the witness stand. She took a moment to straighten her blazer. She extended a manicured hand to smooth a section of hair behind her ear.

“Mr. Haynes, is there anything about your story that you wish to change? Maybe, clarify for the jury?”

Tommy shifted in his seat. He rubbed his palms together nervously. From across the courtroom, dozens of pairs of eyes met his. His father watched him sternly, nodding for him to speak. Buckley looked at him cautiously, still on his feet. Y/N’s mother, Janine, glared right into him, daring him to make another slip up. Y/N sat quietly, trying to keep her breathing steady. The silence dragged on for a perceived eternity. Tommy’s eyes flicked from Walton’s to Celine’s and back again. His mouth opened and shut over again before he could get any words to form. 

“I’d like a moment with my client, Your Honor,” called Mr. Buckley.

“No--no, I, uh...yeah, I need a second,” Tommy told the judge. A sheen of sweat covered his brow. His face and chest were flushed. He unbuttoned the collar of his dress shirt and continued to fidget. With his wide eyes, he looked very much like a deer caught in headlights. 

Judge Engel nodded.

“Alright, everyone. I think we’ve had an eventful morning. Let’s break for lunch,” he said, sounding his gavel.

Tommy descended from the stand shoulders tense and stiff. 

Court adjourned and the murmurs began. Celine’s questions and Tommy’s reaction had been unexpected, but salacious. Tongues wagged as soon as men and women left the courtroom for their midday meals. The halls were filled with “do you think he’ll confess”, “he won’t last long”, and “the jury won’t give him any time”. The afternoon recess continued that way, all murmurs and rumors. Everyone was eager to see what the rest of the day would bring.

Trial attendees flowed in. Y/N and Celine, Tommy and Walton entered after. The jurors filed in and filled their seats. Lastly, Judge Engel ascended the podium and sounded the gavel.

“Now that everyone has had a little lunch,” the judge began, “and a few moments to collect their thoughts, let’s bring court back in session.”

The gavel sounded through the dusty, sunlit courtroom.

“Ms. Goodman?” The judge fixed her with a curious look.

“Yes, Your Honor?” She rose, still looking in every way prepared for battle.

“Do you wish to continue the cross-examination of the defendant, Thomas Haynes,” Judge Engel questioned.

Y/N bounced her knee nervously. The sooner Tommy was finished on the stand, the sooner the jury would be excused to make a verdict. She had been wound so tightly the last few days. It felt like weeks, months,  _ years _ had gone by since this all began. She wished it would hurry up and go away.

“The prosecution has no further questions, Your Honor,” Celine replied.

Y/N melted into her seat in relief. They were almost there. One step closer to normalcy. While relief settled in Y/N’s stomach, unease arose in Tommy’s. His fate would rest in the jury’s hands.

“No questions? I’m surprised, Ms. Goodman,” Judge Engel warbled. “Let’s hear the closing statements. The prosecution may proceed first.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Celine said as she rose. She smoothed her skirt and straightened her jacket. After a look to her client, she approached the jury.

“ Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m sure you recall that at the start of this trial I asked you to look deep inside yourselves. I promised to present physical evidence and witness testimony. To show you photographs and graphs. I asked that you examine your own conscience and system of morals. I asked that you question what it is that you believe to be just, and unjust, in this world. I warned you that the task would be uncomfortable, but would serve to benefit the good of our community and the wellbeing of those who will come after we are gone.”

Ms. Goodman paused to let her words sink in. Her exacting gaze lingered on each one of the twelve jurors. 

“In this courtroom, we saw that no matter how outstanding a citizen--a  _ child _ \--may be, they can still be subjected to the centuries-old violence and discrimination that has plagued this country since the dawn of its very founding. Despite her accolades, her hours of community service, her stellar grade point average, her hard work...it was never good enough. Being a “token”, some made-up ideal of how “they” think she should act? That didn’t protect her from the reckless violence and harassment enacted upon her by the defendant. You heard her testimony. You saw the evidence. You know what he called her. What he intended to do to her. Doesn't that warrant punishment?”

Celine paced a short distance before stopping to look gazelessly at the ceiling. When she looked at the jury again, her eyes were tinged red. They glistened in the afternoon light of the courtroom.

“If Thomas Haynes is not held accountable for his actions, he will not stop. It will not stop. This “legacy of hatred”--what Walton Buckley wants us to see--will not end if we do not bring those like Mr. Haynes to justice; this will go on. Is that what you want? Is that the kind of world you want you, your children, your children’s children to grow up in? A world where their identity, something they cannot change, makes them subject to such violence? That isn’t the kind of world I want to live in. That is not the kind of country my grandparents hoped for when they fled from internment and extermination. And that is not the society I wish to raise my future children in.”

Celine tarried for a moment. She gazed at her client, meeting her eyes as she sat in her chair with rapt attention. Hands clasped tightly in her lap. Lips bitten hard between teeth. Face flushed with tears hardly held back.

“If that is not the world you wish to live in,” Celine continued more softly. “If this is not what you want your children to see, to  _ experience _ . You will consider the evidence presented and find Thomas Haynes guilty of _all_ charges. Thank you.”

Celine strode to her chair. She nodded to the judge before taking her seat. The jury shifted in their own seats. Throats were cleared. Heads were scratched. Thoughts were mulled over and over again. Everyone sat on the edge of their seats, waiting for the resolution they had all been waiting for.

Judge Engel looked on from his podium. He laced his fingers in front of him. Looked down his nose at Walton Buckley.

“Mr. Buckley, I take it you have prepared a closing statement?”

Buckley stood jerkily. He adjusted his tweed and corrected his crooked bowtie. 

“Yes, Your Honor,” he rushed.

Judge Engel nodded, satisfied.

“You may proceed,” the judge warbled.

Walton Buckley approached the jury. He cleared his throat and shifted his tie before beginning.

“As I stated at the start of this trial, the prosecution offered quite a bit of conjecture, allegations, and the like. They offered up some very compelling evidence and testimony. It is the prosecution’s intent to smear and slander the image of my client. They attempted to portray him as a brash, drunken teenager spurred by prejudice and hatred to commit an egregious act of violence. In reality, my client was simply misguided by the teachings of his father. He has asserted that what occurred between himself and the prosecuting witness was, indeed, consensual.”

Walton moseyed about the floor, hands clasped behind his back.

“And, since that is the case, there is nothing to charge my client with. This is the case of two teenagers, buoyed by the excitement of libated festivities, coming together and regretting it the morning after. One could allege that there was, perhaps, a bit of excess eagerness or aggression. Such is often the case when alcohol is involved. At the end of the day, hardly any harm was done--aside from a few cuts and bruises. Everyone got home safely. No crime was committed. It is for that reason that I must beseech you to find my client not guilty on all charges. One night of overzealous engagement need not tarnish the boy’s future anymore than this awful publicity and traumatic trial already have. Thank you.”

Buckley shuffled back to his seat. He clapped a firm hand onto Tommy’s shoulder. He was feeling confident about the trial. During the closing statements, the jury had not seemed firmly set in any sort of decision. After all, they still had to deliberate. But, their lack of sureness was a good sign, as far as Walton Buckley was concerned. He doubted they would find Tommy guilty of anything that would lead to jail time. Sure, there were photographs and forensics. But there was little to tie to Thomas. He hoped the jury saw things the same way.

Judge Engel sighed from his seat on the stand. This had better end well, he thought. He took a sip of water before addressing the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he warbled. “You have seen the evidence, heard the testimonies, witnessed the arguments of counsel. It is now my duty to instruct you of the law which governs this case and its proceedings. As jurors, it is your duty to follow the law as I shall state it to you. It is your responsibility to apply this law to the facts as you find them from the evidence presented in court. Be advised that it would be a violation of your sworn duty to base a verdict upon anything other than the evidence presented during the trial.” 

The judge paused. He looked sternly from each juror to the next.

“As you make your decision, you must not be swayed by bias or favor to any party. Our system of law does not permit jurors to be governed by prejudice or sympathy or public opinion. Both the parties and the public expect and trust that you will carefully and impartially consider all of the evidence in the case and reach a just verdict regardless of the consequences. You must determine the facts. In order to do so, you must reflect on the evidence that was presented to you. The exhibited evidence will be provided to you for your review during your deliberation. Let it be known that any statements, questions, or objections made by the lawyers do not serve as evidence.”

The judge rambled on about using “common sense”, considering the integrity and reliability of each witness, special instructions regarding deliberation, and other points for the jury to remember. Onlookers fidgeted in their seats as his speech passed ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. Finally, the judge concluded his statement. He instructed the bailiff to lead the jurors to the deliberation room, then adjourned the day’s proceedings. 

  
  


The first three days of the jurors’ deliberation were met with patience and a healthy helping of nerves. The mood in Hawkins prickled with anticipation. The population was divided on both how they thought the trial would end and how they wanted it to turn out. Everyone returned to their daily routines, but in the back of their minds lurked the fear of what was to come next. Many sided with the prosecution’s side of the story: Tommy attacked Y/N unprovoked. Many who felt that way were acquainted with Y/N or her parents. Some were fellow Girl Scouts or homeschoolers, family friends or parents of students from her art class. On the other side of the aisle were those that stood with the defense. What they lacked in numbers, they made up for in passion of conviction. Tommy’s friends and family all rallied around him. While he remained isolated at home, supporters left signs and balloons outside the Haynes home. A few of the most rabid supporters made it their mission to discover the identity of the twelve jurors who would decide Billy’s fate. They sought to “persuade” the jury to decide in Tommy’s favor. A few jurors began to receive threatening phone calls at home or notes left on their car windshields. Hawkins Police Department was on it; they had their leads, but none that went anywhere useful.

Y/N had trouble sleeping for days after the trial. Her dreams were marred with images of Tommy going free, her home being vandalized, Neil screaming vague obscenities. In her waking moments, she felt as if strapped into the car of a rickety, wooden roller coaster on its ascent. With every moment that passed with no decision from the jury, the coaster car crept ever closer to the peak. She was just waiting for the drop.

After a week passed with still no decision from the jury, Robin started sleeping over at the Y/L/N’s house to take her best friend’s mind off things. As if things were as they always had been, Robin made sure to bring a duffel bag full of snacks and VHS tapes to kill time. Every day after school, she went straight to Y/N’s place rather than going home.

“I’m not going home until this is all over,” she said.

It took a total of fourteen days, four hours, seventeen minutes, and six seconds before it was “all over”.

Y/N’s father was in the kitchen reading The Hawkins Post before work when the phone rang. Celine’s voice sounded through the other end. When Michael received the news she shared, he dropped the phone in disbelief. Leaving the plastic receiver bouncing from its cord.

“There’s a verdict. Court reconvenes at noon today,” he relayed.

Y/N, her parents, and Robin too piled into the family’s car and hurried to the courthouse. They knew each one of them would be too antsy to wait around the house until noon. Robin would just have to miss school for the day. She needed to be by her friend’s side. The hours crept by slowly in the quiet courthouse. Staffers and clerks trickled in as the morning drifted slowly toward afternoon. Celine arrived an hour before court was so reconvene. She marched in in a flurry, eyes steely with confidence and determination. She assured the family that today, justice would be served.

An hour later, Judge Engel ascended the podium. The benches of the courtroom were packed as tightly as they had been on the first day of the trial. Joyce left her shift at Melvald’s to sit in the crowd. Hopper stayed at the station, but Officer Powell sat right beside Y/N and her parents. Billy wanted badly to be there, but there was no way Neil would allow it. Like wildfire, word had spread through Hawkins that the verdict was to be delivered. Dozens of people left work early to get the trial news as it happened. Employers were, mostly, lenient on attendance. After all, Hawkins had never seen anything like this. And the small town had seen quite a bit lately.

Courtroom formalities began as they always did. The judge made his announcements. The bailiff ushered in the jury. The attorney and client of both sides shifted in their seats.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

A jury member stood, holding a single sheet of paper in hand.

“We have, Your Honor,” she replied.

Judge Engel nodded in approval. He was ready for this case to end. He needed a vacation.

“What say you,” the judge asked. “On the charges of harassment, how do you find?”

The juror, Sandra Bellamy, cleared her throat. Her peers had nominated her to read the verdict aloud. She had complied reluctantly. She wanted this to be over just as much as anyone. Threatening phone calls to her home phone had begun on the second day of the trial. Her car was keyed a week later. She’d been followed for three blocks while out walking her dog on a Saturday morning, just as she always did. She was ready to move on from the stress of it all.

“On the charge of harassment, we find the defendant, Thomas Haynes, not guilty,” she said, eyes never leaving the paper in front of her. She hated to imagine the look on the face of Y/N and everyone there to support her.

At the juror’s words, a ripple of sound rolled through the courtroom. Gasps on one side, cheers on the other. Tommy’s father clapped his son on the shoulder. 

“Order in the court,” Judge Engel commanded, gavel tapping firmly on its striking block. When quiet resumed he continued, “On the charge of a hate crime, how do you find?”

“We find the defendant...guilty,” stated the juror with a heavy sigh.

The premature bravado of Tommy and his team was all but snuffed out as the woman’s words sunk in. Both sides of the courtroom were eerily quiet, breathless and incapable of speech for entirely different reasons. 

Judge Engel continued, unfazed.

“On the charge of assault, how do you find?”

“On the charge of assault, we find the defendant guilty,” said the juror.

At this, the silence in the courtroom shattered. Tommy’s mother wailed boisterously. Cries of “my boy”, “my baby” rang through the air. Murmurings filled the air. Talk of Tommy’s future, his reputation. 

“How will he survive in prison?”

“What about Stanford?”

“How will he ever get a good job, now?”

“Order,” Judge Engel bellowed. “Settle down or I’ll have you escorted from the courtroom. Unless, you would prefer I find you in contempt?” 

After a few raps of the gavel, silence settled over the courtroom again.

“On the charge of attempted rape, how does the jury find,” asked Judge Engel.

The juror took a shaky breath before answering. The paper shook in her trembling hands.

“The jury finds the defendant,” she took a gulp of air and tried to focus on the scribbled words in front of her. “Guilty.”

Previous whispers and murmurs swelled to cries, gasps, and bellows. Tommy’s father swore loudly, threatening to burn down the whole town. His mother swooned in her seat, cradled in the arms of her sister. Walton Buckley avoided everyone’s gaze. He had been sure things were going to turn out better than this. Tommy sat still as a statue. He hardly blinked. The only indication that he had heard a word was the pallor spreading along his face and chest. 

“The court thanks the jury for their time and effort. It was no small sacrifice donating your time for the sake of fairness and justice. The defendant will be taken into police custody until court reconvenes for sentencing. Court is adjourned."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter took 8 million years to get uploaded! so sorry for the wait. thank you everyone for your patience, your comments, your questions. i love each and every one of you readers. the next chapter will feature a time-jump more aligned to season 3 of the show. it's about to be summertime!


	20. no more charades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy turns eighteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus chapter!!! happy belated birthday to Tia B! sending so much love your way, hun! thank you for your continued support as i've stumbled through this series. hope you like this addition <3
> 
> Warnings: fluff, brief mentions of grief and loss

Eighteen years. Almost two decades. In the grand scheme of things--considering the billions of years the world had been around--it wasn’t all that much time. It wasn’t enough years of living to legally purchase alcohol. Certainly, not enough time to run as a viable candidate for president. It wasn’t all that much time at all. But, it sure felt that way to Billy. In eighteen years, he had lived in two different states, gone to four different schools, lost a mother, gained another--Max was a bonus, gotten the shit beat out of him by said bonus, and testified before a judge  _ and  _ jury as a key witness in a criminal trial. Eighteen years was an eternity in his book. He only hoped that things might be a little more normal. Just for once.

His birthday had begun like any other Monday. Any fun had been had the weekend before, when there wasn’t school the next day. But today, Susan cooked breakfast just for him. French toast and maple sausage. Scrambled eggs with extra cheese. Max even got him a present--a cassette tape of Metallica’s newest album, “Master of Puppets”. She wanted to be sure he had it before school started, so he could play during the drive over. He couldn’t hide his surprise when he opened the gift. The album had only been released two weeks before. And how had she gotten the money for it? She didn’t have a job yet. Whatever the case, it meant a lot that she did that for him. She was a sweetheart when she wanted to be. Neil was on better behavior too. He made sure to wish Billy a happy birthday before he left for work that morning. 

As much as Billy wanted to spend the day for himself, he decided not to skip class. Not even Civics. After the commotion of the trial, Billy had begun to think about life after graduation. Maybe there was more for him beyond the life he’d come to know. Opportunities to see more, do more. He figured the best way to begin a new chapter in his life was to finish school strong. Maybe, he’d even look into college. He could get a degree or learn a trade. Perhaps, move back to California. Turning eighteen really got his gears turning.

That night, Neil took Billy and the rest of the family out to dinner. They went to Billy’s favorite Hawkins restaurant, Tito’s. Mealtime went by uneventfully. Neil even got Billy a birthday gift, a watch with a leather band and quartz face. Susan probably picked it out. She probably wrapped it too. Even so, Billy was grateful that they had done that for him. That things were a bit calmer. For now. He would be sure to hold on to these pockets of happiness when times got tough again. 

That evening, after everyone was settling in for the next day, Max knocked onto the door of Billy’s room. 

“Come in,” he called. He was sitting on his bed, organizing his vinyl collection.

Max walked in, head ducked. She looked like she was up to something.

“I’ve got a message from Y/N for you,” she said, in a hushed tone.

Billy stopped what he was doing.

“Is she okay?” His chest grew tight.

_ What now? _

Max waved her hand dismissively and closed the door behind her.

“Yeah, she’s fine! She wants to meet up with you for your birthday,” Max relayed.

Billy let out a chuckle of relief.

“Why doesn’t she just come over,” Billy asked.

Max crossed her arms. The answer was obvious. To her, at least.

“Your dad might answer.”

“Why doesn’t she call,” Billy asked.

“Your dad might answer!” Max rolled her eyes. 

“How’d she get the message to you if she didn’t call?”

Max shot her brother a sharp look.

“Y/N told Robin. Robin passed it on to Steve. Steve told Dustin. Dustin called the house,” she answered. “You wanna know what she said or not?”

“Yeah, spit it out,” he grumbled.

Max sat at Billy’s desk. She leant back in the chair and kicked her feet up on a stack of papers. 

“She wants to meet up at Lookout Point at seven tonight. Said she has a gift for you,” Max wiggled her eyebrows. 

Now, it was Billy’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Grow up, loser,” he scoffed. He began to put his records away.

Max snorted.

“I’m the loser?” Max laughed. “You’re the one too scared to go out with the girl you like ‘cause of what Dad thinks.”

Billy scowled.

“I never said I liked her,” he muttered. “Now, get out of my room.”

“Whatever,” Max replied. She stood with a dramatic sigh. “Guess I’m just braver than you. I’ve been going steady with Lucas since before winter break and I don’t care what Dad thinks.”

Billy stared off in shock as Max left without another word. 

_ Did I just get one-upped by my little sister? _

Y/N slowed on the gravel-covered hill to Lookout Point. The granite rocks were rough on her old hatchback. She parked where they always did when Billy drove them here. By the cedar tree and the streetlight. It was well-lit and easy to pull into. She turned the key once so headlights were on and the radio still played. 

**(“Crush on You” - The Jets)**

She rolled down the window on the driver’s side. She needed some cool air; she felt like she’d be sick. It was silly. There was no reason to be nervous. She and Billy were friends. But, it had been weeks since she’d seen him--during the trial. It felt like an eternity. What if things were awkward between them now? What if he didn’t want to hang out with her anymore? There wasn’t any reason to now. And she was sure he’d gotten into trouble with his dad. 

_ It’s all my fault. He probably won’t even come. Or he’ll just tell me we can’t be friends anymore. _

Y/N sighed and looked at her watch. It was eight minutes to seven o’clock. She was beginning to regret being early. Now, she’d have to wait almost ten minutes for Billy to come. If he showed at all. She turned the key one last time and cut the headlights. She stepped out of her car and sat on the hood, bathing in the cold glow of the streetlight. Her present for Billy sat next to her. She pulled her coat tight and zipped it up to her chin. In nervousness, she picked the paint stains on her fingertips.

Not five minutes later, the alcove was illuminated by the headlights of a certain blue Camaro. The car pulled up to Y/N’s. It rolled slightly as Billy shifted into park. The door shut and gravel crunched. Billy sauntered over to her.

“You, uh, you come here often,” he asked.

Y/N pursed her lips and rolled her eyes.

“That was so lame. I know you’ve got better lines than that,” Y/N goaded.

“I do, sweetheart. But you’ve left me damn near speechless,” he said with a grin.

Y/N threw her head back and laughed. She tried to ignore the skip of her heartbeat.

“Much better,” she said with a smile.

Billy leaned against the hood of the car. Hips inches away from hers. His face was suddenly serious.

“How you been,” Billy asked.

Y/N opened her mouth to answer.

“Don’t even think about some ‘I’m good’ crap,” he interrupted. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Y/N closed her mouth. She really had been about to tell Billy that she was fine. Now, she had to come up with something else. 

“I’m...decent,” she answered.

Billy squinted at her sideways.

“Really! I’m doing alright. I’m still on track to graduate this year. Still doing Girl Scouts. Still doing things that make me happy,” she said.

“And?” Billy pressed.

“And I’m seeing a shrink. One hour, three times a week. I can go down to twice a week once the therapist thinks it’s okay.” Y/N resumed plucking at her fingers. It felt so weird to talk about it out loud, seeing a shrink. She didn’t want Billy to think she was broken or bonkers. She just needed to find a healthy way to cope.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, not pausing when she turned to look at him in surprise. “Lots of people are embarrassed to talk to a professional. It takes a lot of guts.”

Y/N smiled, gaze focused on her hands again. 

“Thanks, B,” she said with a soft smile.

“Of course. If it makes you feel even better, I went to a therapist when I was a kid,” Billy confided.

Y/N turned to face him.

“Really? For what, if you don’t mind me asking,” she added in a rush.

Billy looked off into the stars. He leaned back on his hands.

“I had a real hard time when my mom disappeared,” Billy confessed.

“When she--your parents didn’t split up?”

“Nah,” he said, looking pensive. “She and my dad had a big fight one night and she drove off. He went after her in the pouring rain. When he got home, he said she wasn’t coming back. Guess she’d just had enough. She never said goodbye. That sorta thing is hard on a kid.”

Y/N placed a comforting hand on Billy’s arm.

“I’m so sorry. Have you heard from her since,” she asked.

Billy licked his lips.

“Not once. I’m not sure I’ll ever know what happened. She was just there and then,” he paused. “One day, she wasn’t.”

Y/N bit her lip, unsure of the right thing to say. Instead of fumbling her sympathies, she gave Billy’s arm a squeeze and rested her head on his shoulder. She hoped that said what she was feeling. 

The pair sat like that for a while, silent and contemplative. Neither one was discomforted by the quiet. No one had the urge to fill it with jokes or small talk. They simply existed, alone in their thoughts but united in their feelings. The air was chilly, but bearable. Winter’s ice was gone; spring was on its way.

After a while, Billy spoke up.

“Max said you had a present for me.”

Y/N smiled. How could she have forgotten?

“Happy birthday, Billy,” she said, handing him a round, tin foil-covered dish.

Billy brought the pan to his nose.

“Is this what I think it is,” he asked.

Y/N nodded, trying to contain a grin.

Billy let out a satisfied groan.

“And it’s still warm! You are a goddess, sweetheart. I could eat this right now,” he said with ravenous eyes.

Y/N reached into her coat pocket and brandished two shrink-wrapped sporks.

“Incredible,” Billy praised. He set the pie down on the hood of the car and pulled the foil back. “And you added the pecans this time! If you’re hiding ice cream in your coat pockets, I think I’ll have to get down on one knee.”

“Dang it! Left the Breyer’s at home,” Y/N quipped.

“I guess that wasn’t the sound of wedding bells I heard,” Billy volleyed. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Y/N said, wrinkling her nose playfully.

“You never disappoint,” Billy replied, looking her straight in the eye.

Her brain short-circuited. She stared at Billy open-mouthed. After she recovered, she cleared her throat. She looked anywhere but into his eyes.

“Wanna do the honors,” she asked, clumsily handing him a plastic utensil.

He made a sound of agreement and took a scoop of sweet potato pie. 

His eyes fluttered shut as he took the first bite.

“I don’t know how it’s possible, but this is even better than the first one,” he said.

Y/N smiled.

“It’s the pecans,” she replied.

Half a pie later, they stretched out on the hood of the hatchback.

“Gosh, I’m so full. I shouldn’t have eaten so much. It was your gift,” Y/N said guiltily. 

“You share birthday cake. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you share birthday pie, too,” he replied. He rolled onto his side to face her.

“I like the way you think, Billy Hargrove,” she said, rolling over to return his gaze.

The limited space on the car hood meant that the two were only inches apart. Twinkling eyes met as cinnamon breath mingled in the cool air. Both hearts pounded as each considered their next move.

“You know what I’d really like for my birthday,” Billy asked lowly.

“A million dollars?”

Billy shook his head and slid closer, just an inch. Careful and cautious. Never pushing, never pressuring.

“A little sugar,” he answered.

Y/N giggled.

“Billy, I brought you a whole pie!”

Billy bit his lip and looked at hers. His gaze traveled to her eyes. Gentle, tender.

“I think you know what I mean,” he said golden-tongued.

Y/N’s face warmed. She knew what he meant. She bit her lips and looked at his.

Billy raised his brow in a silent question.

_ May I?  _ He seemed to ask.

She nodded hesitantly.

Billy gently placed a hand on her waist and pulled her closer. He moved slowly, giving her time to pull away or object if she needed to.

Rather than pull away, she reached up and twirled one of Billy’s curls between her fingers. Too unsure to make the first move.

Billy gave her waist a subtle squeeze.

Another silent question.

She nodded again, her eyes on his.

Billy closed the space between them and pressed his lips to hers. Cinnamon, clove, and vanilla danced as their lips met. His hand glided from her waist to her arm and, finally, to the small of her back. Y/N’s hand reached further into Billy’s hair, resting at the nape of his neck. 

They breathed each other in. Months of caution and tension spilling into a kiss that left them gasping. 

Billy pulled away first. His hand remained pressed to her back. His thumb rubbed small circles there. 

Y/N met Billy’s gaze. He looked at her so intensely. Like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

“Happy birthday, Billy,” she breathed, before pressing another kiss to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a kiss?! tell me in the comments, did you see it coming or were you shocked out of your socks?? *sings* let me knowww, let me knowwww. 
> 
> Next chapter is almost complete.
> 
> comments are cherished <3
> 
> p.s. do y'all listen to the songs in some chapters? should i continue to add them in?


	21. secrets in darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer brings changes. Some are good. Some are bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took me long enough, right? a huge thank you to everyone reading. in the time this series was started, i began and finished another completely unrelated fic (also on this site). since that's done, i have more brainpower to put some more work into this one! my true firstborn. we're getting a little teeny bit closer to canon, so hang on to your tube socks.
> 
> WARNINGS: fluff, canon suspense

Celine Goodman’s stunning courtroom victory against fellow attorney Walton Buckley turned her into a Hawkins household name, a local celebrity. Her success in a case of such precedent attracted attention she had never seen before. Hawkins residents had been skeptical of the new-comer when she’d first arrived on the case. After her win, she had quickly been adopted into the small town family. She’d received numerous offers of employment, appearance, and even marriage. Hawkins needed a force like her to get to the bottom of all the town’s recent madness. Everyone wanted her to stay. Celine had been tempted, especially after the second marriage proposal. But, she was a big fish in a little pond and she knew it. After the legal proceedings ended, she would be back in Indianapolis. Maybe, she’d come back to Hawkins on a vacation or two.

After the results of the trial, Walton Buckley ran off with his tail between his legs. He had been fully confident in his abilities as an attorney. Too confident. For days after the trial, he went back and forth in his head about what he could have--should have--done differently. He had lost this case. He’d lost others before. But this one...this felt like an especially personal failure. He had been bested by an outsider. A woman half his age and with too much gumption for her own good _ .  _ He was embarrassed and ashamed. Family dinners would be only more uncomfortable after this, he knew.

Thomas Haynes was indeed tried as an adult, just as Robin had said. Thanks to Celine’s brilliance and the selflessness of the prosecuting witnesses, Tommy was convicted on the felonies of hate crime and assault and battery--charges totaling eighteen years, the same time he’d been alive and breathing. The additional charge of attempted rape tacked on an extra year and a half of prison time. Unless granted parole, Tommy would be incarcerated until the age of thirty-six. As the trial occurred during the school year, Tommy was unable to complete the twelfth grade. Still with three months until summer, Tommy didn’t graduate with his friends. In fact, he didn’t graduate at all. There would be opportunities in prison, of course. But none like on the outside. 

Billy, on the other hand, excelled during his senior year. Good grades were one way to get Neil off his back, just a little. At first, after his testimony in court, Billy found it nearly unbearable to be home. Neil was always breathing down his neck, muttering awful things about him, about Y/N. There was hardly anything he could do about it, it seemed. Talking back wasn’t an option. Neither was fighting back. So, he just kept his head down. Did what he was expected to do. He stopped skipping class. Was always early and stayed late for basketball practice. Drove Max wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Anything to get away from the tension. 

Neil’s temper--for once--was short-lived, though. After Tommy was sentenced to prison time, the Hargrove household began to receive numerous phone calls. Unlike the anonymous calls to the jury members during the trial, these calls were named and friendly. Nearly every call (some were just salesmen) was some sort of compliment or praise of either Neil or Billy. Just like Celine Goodman, the Hargroves were lauded as local heroes. Neil was praised for his perceived change of heart. The popular thought was that Neil had  _ allowed _ Billy to testify, that he had wanted him to. Naturally, Neil played the role that had been so suddenly assigned to him. He preened under all the praise. The congratulatory phone calls were filled with “I try to raise him right”, “He’s always made me proud”, and “I don’t know where he gets it from”. 

Conversely, Billy was much more modest. At Hawkins High School, girls were sure to tell him what a hero he was. Even Carol made sure to sidle up to him in study hall to tell him how brave and wonderful he was. Guys around school clapped him on the back saying “You’re stronger than me, bro” and “I don’t know how you did it”. Even Steve Harrington stopped Billy in the hallway one morning to give him a terse nod and a “You’re alright, Hargrove”. It was all strange to Billy, this new fame. He was accustomed to a certain kind of attention. The sort one gained with smooth words and the ability to chug beer while in a handstand. But this, being applauded for his character? This was new. It felt...good, he supposed. Like he was finally being seen for the person he really was. Maybe--just, maybe--there was something more out there for him. Perhaps, even someone more.

Y/N continued to excel at her studies. She graduated along with the rest of her peers. All of her hours of community service and noteworthy grades earned her a substantial college scholarship from the Girl Scouts of America. She had yet to decide what university at which to enroll, but she had plenty of offers. Her plan was to pursue a career in forensics. Forensic evidence had played such a key part in the outcome of the trial. She wanted to do her part to ensure that others got the justice they deserved, as she had. In addition, both Celine Goodman and Dr. Li had been so paramount in the outcome of the trial. She had come to deeply admire the both of them. Forensic science seemed like the perfect blend of both her interests and experience.

Until the school year was to begin, Y/N got a summer job at Starcourt Mall. She was hired as a sales associate at The Gap. It had been Robin’s idea. She had just been hired as a First Mate at Scoops Ahoy. The shops were directly across from one another. Y/N got all the ice cream she could ever want on her breaks. Robin got first dibs on all the best sales. After a week of spending all her breaks at Scoops, she even met Steve Harrington and saw the quirky friendship he’d built with Dustin and his kid friends.

The job at the mall served as the perfect alibi. Her parents knew where she was and had no concerns for her safety, considering the mall security guards and surveillance cameras. It was a fool proof cover for dates with Billy. Their relationship wasn’t a secret, not exactly. It was just that her parents had entirely forbidden her from dating until she was twenty-one. Dating more or less in partial secret also meant avoiding Neil’s hawkish gaze. He played the role of the supportive role in the public eye, but he certainly did not approve of his son cavorting with her. 

It would take more than that to stop them.

Y/N slid into the red vinyl booth, work slacks sticking oddly to the seats. She picked up the brightly-colored menu, adorned with sailboats and cerulean waves, and pretended to read through the options. As if Robin wasn’t going to make her the usual Caramel Crunch Coracle on the house. Madonna’s vocal styling played through the tinny sound system of the half-full ice cream shop. Steve stood at the cash register, trying his best to get some girl’s number--and failing miserably.

Moments later, Robin slid an ice cream bowl in front of her, piled high with ice cream, cookie crumb, whipped cream, and caramel drizzle.

“Just you today,” Robin asked with a smirk. She leaned against the table lazily.

Y/N shook her head, trying to hide her smile.

“Nope. My parents think I’m working until the store closes,” she confessed.

Robin gasped, dramatically clutching her chest.

“Lying to your parents  _ and  _ a secret boyfriend? What’s next? Gonna rob a bank?”

Y/N rolled her eyes and absentmindedly folded the corner of a nautical-themed napkin. 

“It’s not  _ lying _ ,” she corrected. “Not exactly.”

Robin threw her head back and laughed. The action nearly tipped the sailor hat from her head. She nudged her friend playfully.

“No judgement from me! I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself. I wasn’t sure about it, at first. But,” she paused. “I think Billy’s a good match for you. He’s a good guy.”

Y/N smiled. She hadn’t been so certain at first either. She trusted Billy; that much was certain. But, she questioned whether she was the right girl for him. Witty enough. Brave enough. Strong enough. Experienced enough. It was no secret that Billy was the type who could date nearly anyone he wanted to in Hawkins. Knowing that, she couldn’t help but wonder whether there was someone better out there for him.

“Speak of the Devil,” Robin said with a smirk.

Billy strode into Scoops Ahoy with the confidence of a man who ruled the world. His aviator shades sat tucked into the heather grey t-shirt Y/N had bought him with her first paycheck. Sleeves rolled up just at the curve of his biceps, light wash jeans sitting low on his hips. Even with a dozen steady stares following his sure strides, he only had eyes for one girl.

“Hey, sugar,” he said with a crooked smile. He slid into the booth next to Y/N and pulled her in for a kiss on the temple, arm curved around her waist. He broke away to the sound of gagging.

“Buckley,” he said, greeting the unamused third wheel.

“Hargrove,” Robin replied with a raised brow. “I’ll leave you two alone. Wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

Billy chuckled as Robin retreated to help Steve with the evening rush. It looked like a gaggle of middle school kids had just left the arcade and were in need of a sugary pick-me-up.

“We have got to get her a girlfriend,” Y/N said, picking up her spoon.

“I might know someone,” Billy replied with a mouthful of ice cream.

“Really? Does that mean...a double date,” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Whatever you want, darlin’,” he murmured, filling his mouth with whipped cream. 

The pair sat cloaked in the bright fluorescent light of the ice cream shop. Even with customers bustling in and out, it was a safe space--a home base. No one in the shop ever looked twice. If anyone recognized them--and that much was likely-- they focused their attention on fudge swirls and white chocolate shavings rather than the amorous teenagers. 

The empty, boat-shaped bowl sat in front of them, spoons resting at the bottom. The shop emptied out slowly as the evening crept by.  _ Rambo:First Blood Part II  _ was showing tonight and the film was drawing quite the crowd. It was not long before Robin and Steve closed the shop for the night. They went to the back to clean and restock inventory while Billy and Y/N had the whole place to themselves. The booth they always chose was the furthest from the door, catty-corner to the cash register. It gave them a bit of privacy and a perfect view of the entrance--just in case.

Y/N shyly reached under the table for Billy’s hand. He turned his palm to meet hers and laced their fingers together. He ran a thumb across the back of her hand, brow furrowed in thought. A far-off haze settled across his features. Y/N watched him curiously. He looked like he had something just on the tip of his tongue, something he struggled to find the right words for.

**(Recommended listening - “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany)**

“Let’s get out of here,” he said finally.

Her mouth fell open in surprise. 

_ There’s no way he meant to say that. _

Billy realized his mistake. The red rush of embarrassment spread up his neck and onto his cheeks. He rushed to correct himself.

“No, not like that! I meant--I mean.” He cleared his throat and began again. “In the future, let’s--let’s get out of here. Out of Hawkins. You can’t stay here in a town so small. You got too much potential.”

“So do you, B. You’re brilliant, clever, and ridiculously charming. But, I know you don’t believe me,” she assured.

Billy cracked a crooked smile and leveled her with a heavy stare.

“Charming, huh?” He tilted his head and bit his lip.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully.

“Yeah. But, it was your literary analysis of “Romeo and Juliet” that really dazzled me,” she said with a grin.

Billy groaned.

“Jesus, you can’t tell anyone about that. I sound like a huge nerd.”

“You are,” she chirped. “But you’re my huge nerd.”

Billy couldn’t help but chuckle. He pulled her hand to his chin, stubble grazing her knuckles. 

“I mean it,” he said, suddenly serious. “I know we’re young. You’ve got school and I gotta figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life. But, I wanna figure it out with you. For as long as you’ll have me.

“We make a pretty killer pair,” he added. His eyes sparkled. He took a deep breath, bracing himself to say something more. To tell her how much she meant to him. To say how valuable their moments were together, even if they had chosen not to share it with the whole world--not yet. To thank her for giving him a chance to show the facets of him few saw. He hoped those simple words would be enough to convey each of those feelings. He hadn’t said them in so many years. It was foreign just to think them. To say them? Even stranger. 

In that moment, the doors to the back of the store swung open. Steve paraded in with his apron tossed over his shoulder. Robin shuffled in behind him carrying a half-gallon of leftover ice cream. 

“Alright, you two secret lovers,” Steve hollered. “We gotta close up shop. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here!”

It was truly astonishing that one couldn’t hear the sound of all of the eyes rolling at Steve’s corny attempt at humor.

The four went their separate ways. Steve and Robin went to their respective vehicles. Steve spent the whole way talking Robin’s ear off about his summer strategy for scoring a movie date. Billy walked Y/N to hers. He spent the whole walk resisting the desire to pull Y/N just a bit closer, to match his footsteps to hers. When they reached her hatchback, she stood at the driver’s side, door open. Billy leaned nonchalantly on the frame.

“Guess I should get you home before the parents start to worry. Pretty sure The Gap closed an hour ago,” he said with a crooked smile.

“Don’t wanna blow our cover,” she replied cheekily. She carefully trailed her fingers along the collar of his cotton t-shirt, touch skimming along his clavicle. “This color looks good on you.”

Billy tilted his head, grin widening.

“You look good on me,” he said wolfishly.

Y/N swatted him on the chest. He raised his hands in surrender.

“I mean that in the most G-rated way possible,” he promised.

Y/N snorted. She didn’t believe that for a second. Billy didn’t get the reputation he had from being family-friendly.

“Whatever, B,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully. “I gotta go. Don’t wanna miss curfew.”

Billy didn’t fight the smile that graced his lips. He used to think she was such a square. Now, he couldn’t help but admire the respect she had for her parents. They were a good family. He hoped that, when the time came to reveal their relationship, Janine and Michael would welcome him with open arms. 

He was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of his name.

“Sorry?”

Y/N giggled. She was used to that far-off look in Billy’s eyes. He thought she didn’t notice. But she was always in tune, always trying to get a feel of what was on his mind.

“I said ‘drive safely and call me when you get home’, silly. I need to get home before my dad calls Hopper to bring out a search party.”

“Yeah, right. Wouldn’t want that,” he muttered. 

He stepped a little closer into her space, filling her senses with that familiar scent of clove that seemed to cling to him always. Just like the first time, Billy raised his brow in a silent question. She nodded, feeling sure this time. Billy looped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. He moved slowly still, never in a rush to have these cherished moments. She draped her arms around Billy’s shoulders and met his gaze.

This time, she closed the space between them. She pressed an earnest kiss to his lips, tasting caramel and vanilla and a hint of something nameless. She broke into a smile when they pulled away. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the way his lips felt against hers.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she asked, taking a seat behind the steering wheel.

“You know it,” Billy replied with a wink. He closed the door behind her, watching as she drove away. He waved until the cherry red of her taillights was far off in the distance.

**(Recommended listening - “Nothing to Say” by Head On)**

Billy sped down the dark backroad with his stereo blasting. His fingers tapped along to the percussion of music as the speakers bounced with bass. He laughed to himself. He had really done it. Gotten the girl of his dreams. No sweet talk, no pompous pick-up lines. Unless you count Shakespeare. 

_ Who would have thought? _

Billy adjusted the rearview mirror, giving his reflection a stern look. He wanted to practice what he would say to his father when it came time to tell their parents about them. They agreed they would wait until they had concrete post-summer plans. Just in case their parents lost it.

“Dad, I got somethin’ to say,” he began before shaking his head. That wasn’t right.

“Guess what motherfucker!” Another attempt. That wasn’t any good either.

“She’s the best thing that ev--”

In a blink, a heavy... _ something _ collided with the windshield of the Camaro, shattering the glass. Billy swerved. The Camaro careened off the road, tires screeching. It finally came to a stop when it slammed into a mass of vines and brambles in front of the run-down Brimborn Steel Works. The impact sent Billy’s head smack into the steering wheel.

He grunted and groaned in pain as he came to and realized the damage of his prized vehicle.

“Oh, no. No. Piece of shit!” He punched the wheel, the dashboard, anything to undo what had just occurred. 

His ears rang as the muffled radio continued to play through broken speakers. He touched his head, fingertips coming away bloodsoaked. 

“Damn it,” he swore. He hurried--or tried to--from the car, nearly tumbling to the ground from the pain. He inspected the wheels, the lights, the doors, and, finally, the hood of the car. It was a total loss. Irreparable front-end damage. In the white light of the moon, he spotted something strange. On the shattered windshield was a viscous, clear liquid. He reached out to touch it, furrowing his brow at the squelching sound it made under his touch.

“What the hell,” he mumbled.

A bizarre chitter in the distance startled him to attention. He looked up and around for the source of the noise. 

“Who’s there?” He called. He looked out into the night and saw nothing but trees. “Hey! I said, ‘who’s there?’”

Suddenly, a long tendril, a serpent-like grip wrapped around his leg and jerked him to the earth. He fell, face first, into the dirt. He screamed as the faceless grasp pulled him along the ground. He struggled against it, hands clawing for something to grab onto. He roared hoarsely in pain and fear as the tentacle dragged him across the empty lot, down a steep flight of steel steps, and into cold darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to do it.
> 
> ps. songs? do you listen to them? should i continue to add them?


	22. when sixteen blue meets daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than one mystery begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient with me! I started a new job (woohoo!) and my schedule is suuuper weird. I also thought it would be a good idea to start, like, 300 new writing projects at once (and start the sequel to completed series). To make sure these last several chapters (that's right, we're coming to a close here!!!) are posted in a timely manner, I'm going to write the rest of this series and post one chapter a week.
> 
> pinterest series mood board here: https://www.pinterest.com/mushwrites/respect-and-responsibility/

She never got a phone call that night. She tried not to worry. She knew there was probably a perfectly good reason. He could have forgotten about her. Or maybe, Max needed help with something and he never got around to picking up the phone. Or Neil found out about them. Billy never went into detail about his relationship with his father, but Y/N knew it was a tumultuous one. If word had somehow gotten to Neil that the two of them were dating, she was certain that life was about to get much worse for him. To be on the safe side, she decided to wait a full day before she asked Max about him. If there had been a big fight at the Hargrove home, the last thing she wanted to do was make it worse with her presence.

She went through her shift at The Gap, struggling to focus. She helped customers find the right size romper, scanned coupons for ten percent of all denim items, and maintained a cheery smile while two friends bickered over the last sequined cocktail dress in their size. Work wasn’t awful. But, it was still a store in the only shopping mall in town in the middle of the summer. To say work was busy was an understatement. 

After eight hours on her feet, she crossed the mall to Scoops Ahoy. She didn’t even want an ice cream. She just wanted to sit down. She also hoped that maybe Billy would stop by and surprise her. She was trying her best not to worry, but this was so unlike him.

But, instead of Robin’s warm (and sarcastic) Scoops welcome, she was confronted by a gaggle of middle school girls. They all spoke over each other, demanding free samples and flavors that the shop didn’t even carry. Stepping closer to the cacophony, Y/N realized that Erica Sinclair stood at the forefront.

“You already tried Whirlpool Ripple, Strawberry Surf, Caramel Sea Salt, and Barnacleberry. I’m not giving you any more samples, kid,” Robin said in monotone.

Erica planted her hands on the counter, standing on her toes. She tried her best to reach Robin’s height.

“Well, we’re not leaving until we decide which flavor we like the best,” she sassed.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Can you just decide over there? The line is almost to the door,” Robin sighed.

In the time Robin stood bickering with Erica and her troops, a line of over half a dozen ice cream hungry customers. A few mothers scowled as they waited for the line to move along. One, in particular, looked like the type to ask for a manager. Unable to standby any longer, Y/N stepped up to the counter. Robin breathed out a sigh of relief when she spotted her. 

“Finally, someone normal,” Robin breathed, shoulders relaxing. “Steve is in the back churning more ice cream. Could you, maybe--.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the children at the counter.

Y/N took the hint.

“Erica, does your mom know you’re here,” she asked.

Erica looked up at her former babysitter and rolled her eyes. She was getting between her and dessert.

“Yes. She. Does. Now, you need to have a talk with your lil’ friend here,” Erica said. “She has the worst customer service I have ever seen.” 

“Maybe she’s reacting that way because of how you’re talking to her,” she replied. “Now, I know for a fact that your mother gives you weekly allowance and Lucas pays you to do his chores. You have plenty of spending money to buy three Seven Sea Scoop Sundaes for you and your friends so you can try each and every flavor.”

Erica crossed her arms. It was clearly an idea she hadn’t thought of yet. 

“Ok, _ fine _,” she conceded. “I want three Seven Sea Scoop Sundaes with one scoop of each flavor. And double up on the Barnacleberry.”

Y/N cleared her throat.

“Please,” Erica added.

Robin gave you a relieved gaze as she accepted Erica’s money and handed her the change. After Steve and Robin managed to fill the bowls with mountains of ice cream, Erica and her gaggle of friends were finally quiet. The rest of the line moved quickly, just cups and cones of a scoop or two. When the rush died down, Y/N leaned against the counter and sighed.

“Bad day at work?” Robin asked.

Y/N shook her head.

“Parents catch wind of your secret tryst?” She asked, resting her elbows on the counter.

Y/N bit back another sigh. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

“I haven’t heard from Billy since we were here yesterday,” she confessed. “We usually talk every day. And he knows my work schedule. He always sees me when I get off.”

**(Recommended listening - "Sixteen Blue" by The Replacements)**

Robin untied her apron and set it on the back counter.

“Did you guys fight over something?”

Y/N shook her head.

“Nothing like that. Things were fine. Great, really. I’m afraid something happened to him. Maybe his dad took the car away,” she mused. 

“Give it some time. It might be anything worth worrying about. If a few more days pass and you don’t see or hear from him, get some intel from Max,” Robin reasoned.

Y/N paced over to that special booth. The one she and Billy always sat in. She decided that she’d wait until the shop closed, just in case he stopped by. Try as she might, she couldn’t help the feeling of apprehension that began to seep into her bones. Something wasn’t right. If she could just figure out what it was. But before she could spiral, a familiar face tore her from her thoughts.

“Dustin!” She waved. She hadn’t seen him all summer. He had been away at Camp Know Where for weeks.

He said your name with just as much enthusiasm. He filled you in on the highlights of summer camp, of the robots he’d built. He even told you about a crush named Susie. After he caught up with you, he went up to the counter where Robin stood bored.

“Hi! I’m Dustin,” he greeted with a dimpled smile.

“I’m Robin,” she replied dryly. 

“Pleasure to meet you. Uh, is--is he here?”

Robin frowned in confusion.

“Is who here?” She asked. 

As if on cue, Steve Harrington burst through the door with a grin on his face.

“Henderson! He’s back!” He shouted. 

They greeted one another with a hug and a complex handshake--complete with a feigned lightsaber dual. They were clearly the best of friends. 

Robin looked on, as incredulous as Y/N.

“How many children are you friends with?” She asked. This was clearly a pattern.

_

**(Recommended listening - "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You" - Laura Branigan)**

  
  


While Steve and Dustin caught up over a Banana Boat Sundae, Y/N sat alone in the booth. Robin offered to make her the usual treat, but she wasn’t in the mood for sweets. She simply couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that overcame her. This was so unlike Billy; she couldn’t keep her imagination from running wild with all the possible scenarios for why he’d been radio silent. 

Maybe this was his way of breaking up with her.

Maybe Neil had locked him in his room and put bars on the windows.

Maybe he’d gotten into a car crash speeding down one of Hawkins back roads.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed Erica and her friends prowling up to the counter once again. 

Erica crossed her arms and leveled Robin with a signature stern look. 

“I’d like to try the Peppermint Stick,” she said.

Robin sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Haven’t you already tried the Peppermint Stick?” She tried to reason with the kid. But,when Erica got something on her mind, it was difficult to talk her out of it. 

Erica pursed her lips.

“Yeah, so? I wanna try it again,” she demanded.

Robin turned her back to go fetch some help from the back of the store.

“Steve!” She called as she went.

Once the door to back of the store shut, Y/N marched over to Erica and her crowd.

“Erica, I thought we talked about this,” she said.

Erica jumped. She pulled in one of her braids nervously. She hadn’t seen Y/N sitting in the booth; she thought she’d left. So much for trying a sample of every flavor.

“I just wanted another sample,” Erica mumbled. “Come on, guys. Let’s go to the arcade.” 

Erica sulked away, followed by a gaggle of disappointed friends. 

Y/N let out a breath of relief. Erica was even more difficult to stop on a sugar high. She figured she should let Robin and Steve know that the coast was clear. She pushed open the sticky kitchen door and met with three fretful stares.

“Uh, hey,” she began, stopping in the doorway. “Erica and her friends left.”

She spotted a tape recorder and well-worn Russian-English dictionary on the table in front of Dustin. Steve stood to the side, eating a banana. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

Steve and Dustin exchanged a worried look. The latter mouthed something to the other and gestured awkwardly to the dry-erase board mounted on the wall. Written on the board were the letters of the Latin and Cyrillic alphabets. 

“She’s cool. She’s my best friend,” Robin assured.

Steve gaped in offense.

“I thought I was your best friend!”

Robin rolled her eyes. She ignored him, instead turning her attention to Y/N.

“We’re trying to solve a--.”

“A riddle!” Dustin shouted. “It’s a Russian riddle. Can you help? You’re smart!”

“You’re brilliant,” Robin added. “And you speak three languages.”

Y/N furrowed her brow. The three were up to something strange. 

“Robin, none of those languages are Russian. And you speak four. _ And _you’ve been in band for twelve years. You’re super smart,” Y/N reasoned. 

“Right on! Now, we’ve got two geniuses on the case,” Steve exclaimed, planting his hands on his hips.

Dustin cleared his throat.

“Alright, three geniuses. Let’s get to work,” Steve encouraged.

Now, Robin cleared her throat.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She held out an ice cream scoop. “It’s your turn to sling cones. I’ve been behind the register for over an hour fighting off munchkins with insatiable cravings for sugar and dairy. I don’t even want credit; I’m just tired! Please?”

Steve grabbed the scoop, muttering something about fudge sauce and a Russian invasion. He pushed open the door just as the bell rang, signaling a new customer. Dustin turned to the two teens before him. He pressed the play-pause button on the tape record, starting the clip from the beginning.

“Let’s do this,” he said with a grin.

_

  
  


The translation process began by writing out the recorded words syllable by syllable, using the Cyrillic alphabet as a guide. Robin used her musician’s ears to identify the words said. Dustin acted as the scribe, writing the words as they were dictated. Y/N dug through the Russian-English dictionary to translate the sentences that were appearing slowly on paper.

After an hour of diligent study, the first sentence was finally cracked. Robin ran to the peephole in the wall to share the news with Steve.

“We’ve got our first sentence,” she exclaimed. 

Steve spun around, an ice cream cone in each hand.

“Oh, seriously?”

Robin cleared her throat and readied her best Russian accent.

“The week is long,” she said, wiggling her brows. 

Steve deadpanned.

“Well, that’s thrilling,” he drawled sarcastically. 

“I know. But,” Robin shrugged. “Progress!”

While Steve turned his attention back to his two waiting customers, the three geniuses worked their magic on Dustin’s recording. After some practice, they found a process that worked. After an hour and a half, a secret was revealed.

_ The week is long _

_ the silver cat feeds _

_ when blue meets _

_ yellow in the east _

_ _ _

Steve and Robin closed the shop while the others waited nearby.

“I mean, it just--it can’t be right,” Steve said as he pulled down the metal door to the shop.

“It’s right,” Robin and Y/N said in unison. They hadn’t just spent two hours of work for nothing. They were certain that their translation was spot on.

The group walked the quiet halls of Starcourt mall. The neon store signs cast a scarlet glow onto the four. The escalators were still. No one else appeared to occupy the mall except for a few dozen faceless mannequins. 

“Honestly, I think it’s great news,” Dustin piped in.

Steve turned to face his adolescent friend in confusion.

“How? How is this great news?” He scoffed. “So much for being American heroes. It’s total nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense. It's too specific,” argued Dustin. 

“Exactly,” Y/N said, checking the time on her watch. “It’s got to be a code.”

“What do you mean ‘a code’,” Steve asked, still feeling disheartened. 

“Like, a super secret spy code,” explained Dustin. 

Steve rolled his eyes. The rubber soles of his sneakers squeaked against the tile floor. The sound resonated eerily throughout the quiet mall. 

The feeling of unease returned to the bottom of Y/N’s stomach. She said nothing, though. Preferring to listen to Dustin’s hypothesis, instead. 

“That's a stretch,” scoffed Steve. 

“I don’t know, is it?” Robin posited, adjusting the rucksack on her shoulders. 

“You’re buying into this,” Steve asked incredulously.

“Listen,” she began. “Just for kicks, let’s entertain the possibility that this is a super secret Russian transmission. What would they say? ‘Fire a warhead at the White House at noon? No. They would use a code.”

“Exactly,” agreed Y/N.

“Our translation is correct, for sure. I mean, ‘the silver cat feeds’. Why would anyone talk like that if they weren’t hiding the true meaning of their message? And why would anyone try to mask the true meaning of their message if the information wasn’t top secret?”

“Exactly,” agreed Dustin.

“So, I guess this just confirms your suspicions,” Robin said.

“Top secret Russians,” Y/N said with a grin. What a wild ride she had landed herself into. She could hardly believe it herself. “What’s the next step?”

“I dunno. I guess we’ve got to crack the rest of the code and hope we get some answers from it,” Robin replied excitedly. “But what we have so far...what could it mean?”

“Well,” Dustin mused. “Maybe, the silver cat is a meeting place.”

“Or a person,” added Y/N.

“Or a weapon,” said Robin with suspense. “It’s probably going to take a super genius to crack it but--.”

“Uh, guys?” Y/N gestured to Steve, who stood yards away. He was transfixed by a carousel pony ride the others had walked right past. 

He clumsily dug into the pockets of his sailor shorts, dropping loose change onto the floor.

“Steve,” called Robin. “What are you doing?”

“Uh--,” he stuttered, still dropping coins. “It’s a quarter; I need a quarter. Do you have a quarter? I just need one. A quarter.”

Y/N hurried over, digging into her purse. She didn’t know what had gotten into Steve. But she knew she needed to get home soon, before her parents started to worry. 

“You sure you’re tall enough for that ride?” Robin smirked. She and Dustin trotted over to the pony to see what Steve was really up to. 

Y/N dug a quarter out of her wallet and handed it to Steve. He grabbed it eagerly, nearly dropping it in the process. He hastily inserted the money into the ride. The ride bounced and tinny carousel music began to play.

(Recommended listening - Gerald Adams <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8EfGuzUZB3k>)

“Need help getting up, wittle Stevie?” Robin chuckled.

“Shh, just pipe down and listen,” Steve said, looking deep in thought.

“Wait, I know this song,” Y/N mumbled, recognition slowly dawning on her. She snapped her fingers, trying to remember the name. 

Steve looked at her encouragingly, like someone was finally on his wavelength.

“Holy shit,” Dustin swore. “The music.”

He dropped his bag to the ground, retrieving the tape recorder.

“‘Daisy Bell’! The song is called ‘Daisy Bell’,” Y/N exclaimed. “It’s--it’s the song from--”

“From the recording,” finished Dustin as he began to roll the tape. “Listen!”

Robin’s eyes widened before shrinking into a suspicious squint.

“Maybe they have horses like this in Russia,” she tried.

“A carousel ride called ‘Indiana Flyer’? I’m not so sure,” replied Y/N.

“That only means one thing,” Steve said seriously. “This code didn’t come from Russia. It was transmitted from right here.”

Y/N’s worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

_ This is getting too weird. _

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oho, the suspense! What are your thoughts? How do you feel?? What do you think will happen???


	23. the evil we know is more comfort than one we have not yet seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang works hard to crack the mystery of the Russian recording. Reader gets some unpleasant--and unusual--news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update that's actually on time?? who am i??

With Summer in full swing, Starcourt Mall was bustling. People of all ages flocked to the fluorescent lights and polished tile floors of the mall. There was something for everyone: a small play area, a sprawling arcade, over a dozen restaurants, plenty of clothing and shoe stores. It was perfect. Perfect for shopping, for hanging out with friends. And now, it seemed, for a team of evil Russians plotting...something. Y/N and her friends were still trying to figure that out. 

In the meantime, she rearranged the display of jeans in front of her. Though her hands were busy with acid wash denim, her mind was someplace else. What in the world did foreign insurgents want with Hawkins? There was nothing exciting here, Y/N thought. Sure, there had been a handful of strange events. But they had all been resolved, right? The Russian recording could just be nothing. But, Billy’s sudden silence? Was this another part of Hawkins’ curse of strange disappearances? She hoped not. She hoped with her whole heart that it was nothing. That he would waltz into Scoops Ahoy like he always did. But, deep down, she sensed that something was wrong. She just wished she knew what it was. 

**(Recommended listening - “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner)**

The sound of giggles and titters tore her from her thoughts. 

“I will never forget the look on Mike’s face! ‘I dump your ass’, iconic!” Max’s voice carried loudly among the shelves and mannequins.

“I am an icon?” An unfamiliar voice came.

“You are a legend!” Max exclaimed.

Y/N made her way around the seasonal display to find Max perusing ruffle skirts with a friend. There stood a girl who looked vaguely familiar. But even more familiar was the printed romper she had on. They had been selling out for weeks. 

“Hey, Max!” she exclaimed, a smile forming on her lips. 

Max looked up, her grin faltering slightly. 

“Uh, hey!” Max replied awkwardly. “Just checkin’ out the new items. Is, uh, are there any good deals?”

Max’s friend stood silently, observing the interaction between the two.

“There’s a buy-one-get-one-free sale on shorts and tank top sets, if that’s something you’re looking for,” Y/N replied stiffly.

Max thanked her uncomfortably. Her friend smiled shyly as the two stepped away. They proceeded to mill around the nearby display, clearly uninterested in shorts and matching tank tops.

“Wait, Max,” Y/N called. 

Max turned hesitantly, anticipating what she was about to be asked. 

“Is--is Billy alright? I haven’t heard from him in a few days. Did something happen?”

Max and her friend exchanged a look. It was brief, but the sight made Y/N’s heart sink. 

_ Something  _ is  _ wrong. _

Max and her friend seemed to come to some sort of agreement. One whispered something to the other who nodded again.

“Do you get off work soon?” Max asked.

Y/N checked her watch. 

“In an hour, yeah,” she replied with suspicion. 

“Meet us on the benches at the empty storefront upstairs. We’ll talk more then,” Max murmured. 

Before Y/N could reply, the two girls hurried away and out of the store. She sighed. Work dragged on and on. She just wanted to see Billy. Or, at least, to know that he was ok. Instead, she was stuck folding and refolding raglan shirts. She wondered what Steve, Robin, and Dustin were up to. They had agreed to meet at Starcourt Mall to do some spy work and finish interpreting the Russian recording. Y/N agreed to meet up with them after her shift. That would have to wait if Max had news to share.

_

Max and her friend sat partially hidden behind a large ficus on the second floor of the mall. The benches around them were vacant as that corner of the mall had yet to fill its retail space. Y/N approached them with apprehension. The pit in her stomach sank lower with every cautious step. 

Max looked up. She patted the empty spot on the bench beside her. Max’s friend smiled in greeting. 

“Come, sit,” Max said. She looked to the side at her friend who gave her a reassuring nudge.

_ It must be bad news. _

“Max, please. I just wanna know that he’s alright,” Y/N said, holding back tears. “Do you know something?” She tilted her chin towards Max’s friend.

“My name is El,” she said with a smile. “Billy is in trouble.”

Y/N’s eyes grew wide. She knew it. She knew something was wrong.

“What is it? Did he get hurt? Is he sick?” She couldn’t keep the panic from her voice. She held her hands in her lap, wringing her fingers tight. 

“It’s kind of,” Max paused. “Complicated.”

“Billy isn’t really a simple guy,” Y/N said with a sad smile.

“Right,” Max chuckled uncomfortably. “The trouble he’s in this time--it’s not his fault.”

Y/N furrowed her brow. She looked from Max to El, hoping to decipher the answers from their faces. 

Max continued, “Do you remember when Will Byers went missing?”

When Will went missing, Max and Billy were still living with their parents in California. After getting closer to him and his group of friends, Will and the others finally told Max the full story. It had taken a moment for her to believe them but, after seeing proof, she didn’t doubt one word they told her. 

“I remember. There was a funeral for him and everything. And then he came home. But, what does that have to do with what’s going on with Billy?” Y/N asked. 

This time, El spoke up.

“A bad thing took Will to a bad place. Now, we think the bad thing has Billy.”

Y/N tilted her head. She frowned, trying to puzzle together the meaning of El’s words. 

“So, a bad thing took Will. Then, Will came back. Does that mean that the bad thing will bring Billy back?” She asked. 

She looked to Max, hoping she would elaborate. What was this “bad thing”? A person? An illness?

“We’re not sure,” Max confessed.

Y/N looked down at her lap. She stared at her hands, remembering how it felt when Billy held them in his. Surely, she’d feel that again. And soon. Right?

“So, this bad thing. Is it a person?” She asked.

“It is a monster,” El said.

“It’s a monster we call the Mind Flayer. It comes from an alternate universe called The Upside Down,” Max explained. 

Y/N just nodded, her face vaguely skeptical.

“And, what does this monster--Mind Flayer--do with the people it takes?”

“It possesses them,” El replied. “It makes them do bad things.”

Max continued further. She described the occasional shifts in Will’s mood, the strange things around town connected to the so-called monster, the portals in Hawkins, and, lastly, that Chief Hopper and Joyce Byers all in on it. Then, she began to explain El’s powers.

“Maxine,” Y/N interrupted abruptly. She took a steadying breath. “Max,  _ please _ .

“I don’t want to play any games right now. If you can’t tell me what’s going on with Billy, I understand. I won’t ask anymore. But, please don’t lie to me.” Her voice tapered off into a whisper. Her throat was thick with all the tears she pushed away.

“Friends don’t lie,” El said firmly.

“Alright,” Y/N sighed. “So, I guess I should take your word for it? I should just believe that a monster kidnapped my boyfriend and took him to this other dimension. That’s kind of a tall order, guys.”

“We can prove it,” Max urged. She looked at El, who nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Y/N rubbed her hands over her face in exhaustion. Her feet hurt from pacing the floors at The Gap for hours. Her mind was strained from listening to Max’s story. Even worse, her heart ached for Billy. She just wanted answers. 

She rubbed at her puffy eyes. She missed the focused look at El’s face. She didn’t miss, however, as a gumball machine slid across the floor and stopped in front of her, dropping a single candy into her lap.

She looked up in shock to see a trail of blood dripping from El’s nose. Suddenly, she remembered where she had first seen El. 

* * *

  
  


_ Y/N circled the room, surveying the students’ progress and helping them out when they couldn’t get the eyes are nose symmetrical. There was one drawing in particular that had caught her attention. It depicted a young girl in a leather jacket and slicked-back hair. She stood, arms stretched forward and dark eyes blazing. The detail that really made Y/N pause was that the girl’s nose was bleeding. _

_ “Max, who is that? A character from one of your comic books?” she asked. _

_The redhead looked up briefly and flashed Y/N a dimpled grin before turning back to her work. She was concentrating on the details of the girl’s sneakers._

_ “Somethin’ like that,” Max quipped. “She’s kind of a superhero.” _

_ Y/N looked closely. _

_ “This is really great, Max! Can I hang it up outside the classroom when it’s done?” _

_ The girl’s eyes widened, and she rushed to cover her paper. _

_ “No way! It’s, uh, really not for public viewing,” Max stuttered, face turning red. _

_Y/N held up her hands in surrender._

_ “Alright, alright! But it is pretty awesome,” Y/N urged._

“This is real,” Y/N breathed. “This is real. A monster abducted my boyfriend.”

* * *

Y/N sped through the food court. She needed to talk to Robin. To anyone. 

It didn’t take long to find her.

“I cracked it,” Robin said breathlessly. She stood on top of a food court table, hand clutching the notepad that held her Russian translation notes. Steve and Dustin stood on the floor in front of her, looking just as confused as Y/N felt.

“What?” Steve scratched his head.

Robin jumped down from the table, a grin still plastered on her face. 

“I cracked the code,” she said.

_

Back in the ice cream shop, Robin explained the last lines of the secret code. Lynx Delivery. Kaufman Shoes. Imperial Panda. If her interpretation was correct, there would be a delivery later that night. The only way to know, for sure, would be to witness it themselves.

“We need to surveill the place, get some intel. We’ll need some supplies. I can bike home and get some stuff from my place.”

Robin turned to her best friend.

“You in? You can use me as a cover story. Tell the parents we’re having a sleepover,” Robin crooned.

Y/N caved. Using the pay phone in the mall, Y/N and Robin called her parents. Since school ended, her parents had been a little more lenient. With Tommy incarcerated and the support their family had received from the community, Janine and Michael felt a little more comfortable giving their daughter some freedom. What could go wrong with a little sleepover?

A rooftop stakeout in the middle of a summer thunderstorm. That’s what can go wrong. Y/N’s socks and Keds were soaked through. The rainbow-striped raincoat she wore only covered as low as her hips. Her legs had only black slacks, now soaked, to cover them. She bit her tongue to keep her teeth from chattering. Even still, she was in better shape than Robin and Steve. The two both wore even shorter jackets, their hair and faces already dripping wet. Dustin, with his baseball cap, was unfazed. He lay still as a sentinel, binoculars pressed close to his face.

The four watched as a team of armed men wheeled dollies of cardboard boxes into the back of the shopping mall. The heavy rain drops made it difficult to read anything through the binoculars. 

“What do you think is in there?” Y/N asked, voice barely carrying over the thunder.

“Guns? Ammo?” Steve offered.

“Biochemical weapons?” Dustin wondered aloud. 

“But, why here?” Robin questioned, wiping rain drops from her eyes. 

“Maybe, there’s a--,” Y/N began.

“Wait! I think I can see into that storage room!” Dustin whisper-yelled.

Steve grabbed for the binoculars.

“Let me see!”

The two wrestled for the scopes, dropping them from slippery fingers. The binoculars clattered loudly to the ground. Even with the noise of the rain, the echo resounded through the space.

“Shit!” Dustin whispered, quietly this time.

The group ducked down behind the railing, hearts pounding. There was no doubt that their ruckus had been heard. One of the guards barked an order to another.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Y/N said urgently.

They all scrambled to their hands and knees, keeping their heads low. They ducked through the door and scurried down the stairs. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” mumbled Steve as he nearly tripped down the metal stairs.

Y/N and Dustin were silent, still coming to grip with what they had seen.

“Well,” Robin quipped. “Guess we found our evil Russians.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are so greatly loved! what would you like to see? what do you think will happen next?


	24. seeing is believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader questions whether she really wants to solve the mystery. She decides to get to the bottom of another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohooo another chapter on time! buckle in, y'all.
> 
> warnings: violence, blood, angst, all around sadness

“This is way too dangerous. They had guns!” Y/N whispered harshly.

The four sat in the back room at Scoops Ahoy, reflecting on what they had seen on the mall rooftop the night before.

“Exactly! If they’ve gone to the trouble to arm themselves to the teeth, then they must be protecting something valuable! Don’t you want to find out?” Robin questioned her friend.

Y/N sat at the metal table, rubbing her temples. Sure, she wanted to solve the Russian mystery as much as the rest of them. But, not if it meant getting hurt.

“I’m not sure I want to know quite that badly. We should just tell Hopper about it. He’ll get the Feds involved,” Y/N advised.

Steve and Dustin shared a look.

“What do you suppose we tell him? That we discovered a secret, Russian plot operating out of the shopping mall?” Robin asked. “Like that’ll work.”

Y/N huffed.

“This diabolical plot that’s unfolding is not something I want to get roped into. What if they catch us and hold us hostage or something? They might use cruel and unusual methods to make us talk,” Y/N rambled anxiously.

Steve scoffed, flipping his hair off his forehead.

“Oh, come on! Even I don’t buy that. We’ll be fine,” Steve assured. He absentmindedly polished his scoop with the end of his apron. 

“He’s right,” Robin agreed.

Steve’s brows shot up. Robin never agreed with him on anything. He opened his mouth to reply--

“And we’re going to get into that room,” Robin continued.

“I’m sorry. What?” Steve stuttered.

Robin crossed the room. She grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. After rummaging through her pockets, she fished out a few crinkled dollar bills. 

“You two hold down the fort. Stick with us if you want, Y/N. But, I won’t judge you either way. I’m sure your parents would be suspicious if we had another sleepover anyway,” Robin said as she turned to leave.

“Wait!” Dustin called. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find us a way to get into that room,” Robin said with a crooked smile.

_

The hatchback engine hummed steadily as Y/N drove home. She wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery just as much as the others. But she wasn’t about to put herself at risk. She’d had enough danger to last her the rest of the year. Life was finally getting just a little more normal. How could she throw all that away?

She sighed and turned up the radio.

**(Recommended listening - “Secret Separation” by The Fixx”)**

_ Of course there’s a sad song playing _ , she mused.

When she and Billy started seeing each other, they had agreed to meet only in designated areas. Places unlikely to be frequented by Billy’s father or anyone that he was acquainted with. Scoops Ahoy was a safe place. Lookout Point was fairly secure, too. Melvald’s, of course, was off limits. Everyone shopped there. The library was a bad idea, too. But, the worst place--where they were most likely to be seen--was the Hawkins Community Pool. It was well-known that Billy worked there as a lifeguard. There were even a few women who showed up to the pool just to see him.

Y/N hoped that he would be there now. It seemed unlikely, given what Max and El had told her. But, if there was a chance that she could see him, she was willing to take it. Even if it meant facing Neil Hargrove’s wrath. 

She pulled into the near deserted parking lot, arriving just a few minutes before the pool was scheduled to close. Looking around, she saw a few bicycles and a skateboard. Parked behind the building was Billy’s blue Camaro.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. 

_ He’s here. I have to see him. _

She tossed her purse into the glove compartment of her car. She got out in a hurry, nearly tripping over her own feet. She locked the door and hastily stuffed the keys into her jacket pocket. She entered the pool building from the employee entrance. That was the fastest way to get to the locker room. She figured that was where Billy would be. Or, at least, she hoped. 

She stepped into the building, closing the doors quietly behind her. 

“Billy,” sang an unfamiliar voice. “Billy.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. There was someone else at the pool. Someone was looking for Billy, too. 

She kept her steps quiet. She hoped she had nothing to worry about, but Max and El’s words to her lingered in her mind. There was something going on. She needed to find out what.

Turning a corner, she stopped in her tracks. Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Max’s friend, and a boy she didn’t recognize all stood huddled around a walky-talky. 

“Billy,” sang the unknown boy into the device. His voice was playful, but he focused intently on the task.

El spotted Y/N first. Sensing her presence, she turned and met her gaze looking every bit like a thief who had been caught red-handed.

“Uh..,” El began.

The boys turned first to El and then to Y/N. When the group spotted her, their eyes widened. Lucas, who recognized her, looked especially panicked.

“Wha--what are you doing here?” Lucas squeaked, his voice cracking.

“She is worried about Billy,” El answered.

“Is he here?” Y/N asked. Her eyes flickered back and forth across the faces in front of her. One of them had to have an answer for her, surely.

Will stood quietly, looking to El for answers. 

“I will explain later,” El said. “We have a plan.”

El nodded to the other boy, who turned back to the walkie-talkie.

“Billy,” he sang again. “Come and find me!”

El gestured for Y/N to follow them quietly. She led the older teen along the hallway to a side room.

“Max? What are you doing here?” Y/N whispered.

The redhead’s jaw fell open in surprise. The boy looked between the two of them, wondering when they had become so well acquainted. Will shuffled his feet nervously. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the floor.

The sound of a voice interrupted the tension.

“That sounds like Billy!” Y/N felt her throat grow tight. Her heart pounded tightly in her chest.

_ He’s alive. _

El squared her shoulders. She marched back into the other room, leaving the rest of the group behind.

“Max,” Y/N urged. “Tell me what’s going on. Please!”

Max looked into her friend’s glossy eyes. She bit her lip nervously.

“We’re testing our theory about Billy,” Max conceded. “Just follow El and Will. They know the most about this. Mike and Lucas are helping too.”

Y/N stomach turned. This couldn’t be good.

The sound of a door slamming shut jolted the high-schoolers into action. 

“Now!” Will urged, charging forward.

The rest followed after him and into the locker room. El stood in front of the sauna, a rivulet of blood flowing from her nose. On the other side of the sauna door stood a wild-eyed Billy. Mike and Lucas rushed forward with a metal barbel, chain, and padlock. They clambered to the door, blocking it with the bar and securing the lock and chain through the handle.

“What’s going on?” Y/N breathed, a sob tearing from her throat. 

The boys retreated from the site of Billy’s captivity and stood behind El. Billy, eyes round and fearful, slammed his shoulder against the door, grunting from the impact.

Billy’s stormy blue eyes flicked about before landing on his stepsister’s face.

“Max,” his voice echoed.

Max stared at her brother. She took a deep breath and planted her feet. She watched him as his savage gaze swerved to Y/N’s tear-streaked face.

“Baby,” his voice resounded.

The boys turned to Y/N in surprise. A girl like her with a guy like him?

“You’re with  _ Billy _ ?” Mike asked incredulously.

“Uh, yeah,” Y/N stuttered, her throat thick. “At least, I  _ was _ .” She wrung her hands nervously. Why were they locking him up?

“Do it,” Max ordered suddenly.

Will sprinted to the wall. He turned the temperature dial to  195°F, the highest it would go.

“Guys? Why are you doing this? You’re hurting him!” Y/N choked.

Billy slammed his fists against the metal door. He roared his rage, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Max,” he howled. “Let me out of here!” His body trembled. The veins in his neck and temple bulged prominently against his skin. “You think this is some kind of game? This all some sort of little prank?”

He charged the door again. In fury, he smacked his open palms against the steam-coated glass. His eyes locked with those of his girlfriend. He whispered her name hoarsely, sounding almost gentle.

“You too? Please, sweetheart, let me go,” he pleaded.

Y/N cried aloud. She crossed to the door, her hand lining up with Billy’s over the glass window.

“Billy, you’re sick. We’re trying to help you. Please, just be ok,” she sobbed. “Please.”

“Just let me out,” he begged, chest heaving.

Y/N shook her head sorrowfully.

“Open the door,” he ground out. He slammed the door with his full weight. The force of the blow sent the door open just enough to knock Y/N backwards. Max rushed toward her. She linked her arms with her friend’s and pulled her behind El.

“He’s not himself right now,” Max assured. “We’re going to try to make him better.”

“Like this?” Y/N asked through her tears. She watched in horror as Billy’s rage grew. She had never seen him this way before. He charged at the door like a bull antagonized by a scarlet cape. She covered her ears as Billy’s voice seemed to echo all around them.

“Open the door,” he roared. “Open. The. Door. Open the goddamn door!” He hollered ever loudly before disappearing from view. 

Will rushed to the thermometer on the wall.

“We’re at 220 °F,” he reported.

Everyone took a cautious step back. The air was thick with uncertainty. Billy had grown silent.

“Is it working?” Y/N whispered to Max.

“I hope so,” she replied.

As all stood mum, the sound of Billy’s whimpering filled the air. The whimpers grew to quiet sniffles before erupting into heart-wrenching sobs.

“You’re hurting him,” Y/N wailed to El. “He’s hurt!”

“It’s not my fault,” he whined. “It’s not my fault, Max. I promise you, it’s not my fault!”

Max, arm still linked with her friend’s, stepped slowly to the door. Billy sat on the floor, his knees drawn to his chest. He linked his hands together as if in prayer. Or asking for forgiveness. His face was slick with sweat and tears.

“What’s not your fault, Billy?” Y/N asked.

_ What has he done? _

“Baby,” he cried hoarsely. “I’ve done things. Really  _ bad  _ things! I didn’t mean to. Max, I didn’t mean to! He made me do it.”

“Who made you do it,” Max asked. 

Billy’s chin quivered.

“I don’t know. It’s like a shadow. Like a giant shadow,” he wailed. “Please, Max.”

Max and Y/N stepped closer to the door, faces just centimetres away from the glass.

  
“What did he make you do?” Max wondered. 

“It’s not my fault. Max, please,” Billy wailed. He writhed onto his side. Whether from pain or sadness, it was impossible to tell. “Please believe me. It’s not my fault. I tried to stop him, ok? I did.”

Billy clutched desperately to the bench of the sauna. He pressed his tear-covered cheeks onto the wood and continued to cry.

“Please,” he sobbed. 

Tears ran down Max’s cheeks as she watched as her brother shook from the force of his sobs.

“It’s gonna be ok, Billy. We’re gonna help you. You have to talk to us. Let us help you,” she pleaded.

Y/N stood distraught. Too beside herself to say a word.

“I believe you, Billy. We’ll do it together. We’ll figure it out together, ok,” Max continued. “I need you to trust me. Please.”

Above the sound of sobbing--above sniffling and keening--came Mike’s desperate voice.

“Max! Y/N! Get away from the door!” Mike shouted.

Startled, both girls stumbled backward as Billy’s fist shattered the glass of the door. He launched his head and shoulder through the opening, veins protruding in his neck.

“Let me out, you bitches!” He hollered. “I’ll fucking gut you!”

Y/N and Max scrambled to their feet. Max began to hyperventilate. Y/N’s stomach churned; bile rose in her throat. 

Billy wrenched the pole from the door and threw it across the room. 

“Let me out!” He roared, eyes bulging in fury.

Lucas pulled a slingshot from his pocket. He placed a large rock into the leather pocket and launched it directly at Billy’s head. The impact send Billy to the ground, stunning him. 

“Guys, come on!” Lucas shouted. 

Max and Y/N ran to the rest of the group, huddling up to them for comfort and some sort of security. The locker room lights began to flicker. The room began to emit a low hum. They all looked around frantically. It couldn’t be a thunderstorm. Maybe, a short circuit. Or could it be...Billy?

He roared, charging the door again and again. El opened her arms, holding her friends behind her.

“He can’t get out, can he?” Max questioned.

Lucas shook his head, eyes wide. 

“There’s no way,” he breathed. “No way.”

Billy charged the door once again. 

And, this time, he was victorious.

The door burst from its hinges and thudded to the floor, with Billy atop it. He rose to his feet, crouching in front of El with a murderous leer. 

El inhaled deeply. She lifted her hand. Beside her, a massive barbell rose simultaneously. She punched her hand forward with a yell as the barbell flew into Billy’s throat, sending him flying across the room and into the brick wall.

A sob ripped from Y/N’s lips at the sight. Fresh, hot tears fell from her eyes as she watched her boyfriend struggle to breath. 

With both hands, El forced the weight into the brick wall. Pieces began to crumble at Billy’s bare feet. He groaned, pushing the weight off his neck and hurling it straight to El. The force of it knocked her to the floor.

Now free, he leapt to his opponent. He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her to her feet. For a brief moment, he paused and stared straight at his sister. Not breaking eye contact, he wrapped his hand around El’s throat and lifted her off the ground.

“No!” El gasped. She kicked her feet and legs. Clawed at Billy’s clutch. “No!”

All stood aghast, frozen with fear. Mike leapt into action first, grabbing a bat from the ground and knocking Billy to the floor.

“Go to hell, you piece of shit,” he cried.

Billy regained his balance quickly. He wrenched the bat from Mike’s hands and stalked toward him. Just as Mike’s back touched the brick behind him, Billy began to levitate into the air. He began to groan, as if fighting against an invisible force. 

El rose, arms outstretched. Teeth clenched, she lifted Billy higher into the air. With a visceral scream, she sent Billy crashing through the wall of the building. He landed onto the asphalt with an awful whump. In the locker room, El collapsed into Mike’s arms. A mix of blood and tears streamed down her face. He gently helped her to her feet. The group all watched in horrified dubiety as Billy ran off into the darkness.

“Um, I--,” Y/N stuttered, clutching her stomach. She bent over the broken sauna door and wretched.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are my favorite thing in the whole, wide fic world! 
> 
> thoughts! feelings! guesses! lemme hear it, darlings <3


	25. many hands make for light work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another pair joins the group to solve the mystery in Hawkins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we gooooo

Eyes shut against the darkness of her room, Y/N bawled beneath the covers. Her shoulders shook as her sadness manifested into briny tears. When she had gotten home, she peddled to her parents an excuse about eating something at the mall that upset her stomach. After a glass of ginger ale at her mother’s insistence, she went off to be alone. So she laid under the weight of too many blankets and cried into her pillow.

Her mind whirled with the sounds and sights of Billy’s possession. The monster inside him had given him superhuman strength and a temper he had never shown. Seeing him that way, she had no doubt that he was a danger to everyone around him. He was a danger to himself. Locking him in the sauna was supposed to make him better. Will said that was what healed him, that it had purged the monster from his body. Why hadn’t it worked for Billy? Was there anything else they could do for him? Would he stay like this forever? Would the monster kill him?

She stared blindly at the ceiling. She tried to imagine what life without Billy would be like. Of course, she would manage. She had her family and plenty of friends. But, Billy added a jubilant spark to her life that she had never experienced before. Being with him felt like wind in her hair, infectious laughter, inside jokes, and a sugar high. All at once. She didn’t want to lose that. Especially not to a shadow creature from another dimension. But, what could she do about it?

She pulled her blanket up to her ears, burying her face into her damp pillow. She just wanted her Billy back.

_

Across town in Starcourt mall, a storage room began speeding down a shaft. A storage room filled with miscellaneous bins and boxes. And a certain pair of ice cream slingers and their adolescent friends. Needing someone smaller to sneak into the storage unit, Steve, Robin, and Dustin bribed--or recruited--Erica Sinclair to help them solve the mystery of the evil Russians in the mall. 

Unfortunately for the group, the storage room was also an elevator. An elevator that began to race down the elevator shaft, with everyone inside. Robin tried to get as close to the wall as possible, clutching metal shelves for dear life. Erica screamed. Her knee and elbow pads might not be enough to protect her from an elevator crash. Dustin shrieked, frantically pressing any button he could find. Steve crouched in the middle of the floor.

“We’re goin’ down,” he yelled. “We’re goin’ down!”

“Yeah! No shit, Sherlock!” Robin replied.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” Dustin chanted, still smashing every button in front of him.

“Press the button,” Erica hollered at him.

“I am pressing the button!”

With a jolt and a series of crashes, the elevator came to an abrupt halt. Boxes toppled to the floor, collided with the lift’s occupants. 

“It landed on my groin,” groaned Steve.

_

Y/N decided to stick close to Max and her friends. After the attempted exorcism at the pool, she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to be as close to any possible answer as she could. Max was sure it was a wise decision. Y/N was like a big sister to her; any time they spent together was treasured. El and Will feared that Y/N might become another target for the Mind Flayer. After all, Billy knew where she lived. He knew where she worked and when. If there was any safe place, it was near a girl who could move objects with her mind.

That morning over breakfast, she fed her parents a story about meeting up with Max to do some shopping. It wasn’t the truth, hardly close to it. Lying to her parents was becoming a habit. But there was a life at stake. Janine and Michael knew their daughter didn’t have work that day, but her curfew had been lifted for the summer. They had been trying to give their daughter some freedom, especially since she’d be starting college classes soon. 

After her parents were placated with a few fibs and exaggerations, Y/N drove to the Wheeler home. Before departing the night before, the group agreed to meet at Mike’s house to formulate Plan B. The sauna test had been a failure. El was certain that there was something else they could do to save him. 

_

El sat on an afghan-draped sofa in the Wheeler basement with a blindfold over her eyes. A rivulet of blood dripped from her nose. The rest of the group sat across from, watching and waiting for any news she had for them. 

“Ill-annoy,” she said questioningly. “They’re going to Ill-annoy.”

“Illinois,” Y/N questioned.

“As in, the state?” Mike wondered aloud. 

“But, that doesn’t make any sense,” Will added. “What do they have to do in Illinois?”

The group went around floating a few theories. Maybe Hopper and Joyce had a mutual friend there who could help them with...something. What would they need help with? Perhaps, it had something to do with the Mind Flayer or Billy. But, that was a long shot.

El removed the scarf from her eyes. Nothing else she saw was going to answer their questions. She rose from her seat and headed into the bathroom to wash her face. Max followed behind to help. For a moment, all was quiet except for the muffled sound of the bathroom sink. The information that El shared had provided no answers. Rather, it only posed more questions. If Hopper and Joyce--the only adults who had any knowledge of the threat they were dealing with--were leaving the state, that left only them behind to save Billy. And the rest of Hawkins. It was clear that the Mind Flayer was using Billy for something. Something that needed more than just Billy to accomplish. 

Y/N sat on the couch, sharing a box of Cocoa Puffs with Lucas. She munched away while Mike began to vent about his problems with El. Apparently, they were dating. Or, had been.

“I thought she dumped your ass,” Will asked.

“Well, that’s what she said. But I don’t know what I did! I thought things were fine!” Mike whined.

Y/N continued snacking, content to listen to the woes of adolescent love. It was nice to focus on the problems of someone else for once. 

“I’m tellin’ you,” Lucas said. “Girls are crazy. No offense, Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. Sure, she didn’t have a lot of dating experience, but could see that Mike needed some guidance.

“Have you actually talked to her about it? There’s only so much your friends here can do for you,” she said.

Mike looked at her like she had three heads. 

“Talk? I can’t talk to her; she won’t talk to me! Girls don’t want to talk! They just want to scheme!”

_ He’s a lost cause. _

Y/N patted the sofa cushion next to her. Mike sighed, but took the hint. He sat down beside her, staring at his hands in his lap.

“Look, Mike. You’re not going to get any answers from these two here. Only El can tell you what she's feeling. Either talk to her, or accept being single. It’s that simple.”

Mike fiddled with the tassels of the throw blanket on the sofa. He mindlessly tugged on the strands before speaking again. 

“Except, it’s not that simple. It’s not just about me and El. It’s about her dad, too. Hopper is crazy!”

Y/N wrinkled her brow, just a moment. The only daughter she knew Chief Hopper to have was Sarah, who had passed at a young age. Regardless, now wasn’t the time to decipher Hopper’s family tree. 

“I totally understand avoiding difficult parents. My folks don’t know about my relationship with Billy, and neither do his. It would be a big fuff if they did. And not even for the same reasons. You’ve only got one parent to avoid. Try four,” Y/N reasoned.

Their conversation was interrupted by the noise of crunching food and smacking lips. Lucas was finishing the rest of the cereal.

“I still can’t believe you’re going out with him. What do you even have in common,” he asked with his mouth full. 

“Probably just as much as you and Max do,” Y/N sniped playfully.

Lucas’ jaw fell open.

“How--who told you?”

“I have eyes. And you can’t keep yours off her,” Y/N said with a laugh. 

Just then, El and Lucas’ not-so-secret girlfriend exited the bathroom. Both of their faces were flushed pink. They looked at each other conspiratorially, like they had been gossiping. 

“Why do you girls take so long in the bathroom?” Will asked.

“Girl stuff,” El replied with a shrug and a shy smirk.

With everyone back together, it was time to shift the focus from relationships to the task at hand: destroying the Mind Flayer. The group threw around some ideas. Lucas suggested setting Billy on fire to burn the monster from his body. Mike quickly shot that idea down. Will suggested a boiler room. The question was where to find one of those. Max offered talking him down. He had seemed himself for a moment in the sauna. Maybe, part of her brother was still there. Still within reach.

A knock sounded on the door to the basement.

“Not now, Mom!” Mike hollered.

Instead, they were met with the muffled voice of Nancy Wheeler.

“Mike, open the door.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon-level action and violence coming next chapter


	26. strength in numbers (choose your fighter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who else has become a victim of the Mind Flayer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the mystery continues

Mike jogged to the basement door, confusion riddling his features. Nancy Wheeler and her boyfriend, Jonathan Byers, hurried in. They both panted as if they’d run through the front door. Looking around the room, Nancy’s brows raised in surprise at the sight of the crowd gathered in the basement of her family’s home. Clearly, that wasn’t the thought on the forefront of her mind as she strode into the room and slapped a handful of papers on the coffee table.

“It’s happening again,” she declared to the group.

Six pairs of eyes stared at her in wide-eyed confusion. Jonathan merely stood behind stoically. 

“Uh, what’s happening again?” Max asked cautiously.

“It’s another possession,” Nancy began. She described the phone call she received while she was working for  _ The Hawkins Post.  _ She explained the first visit to Mrs. Driscoll’s home with Jonathan to investigate the so-called “rabid rats”. The following trip that evening when they discovered the old woman shoveling handfuls of fertilizer into her mouth. She described the screaming seizure Mrs. Driscoll suffered while under the doctors’ care. “It was the same thing, the exact same thing that happened to Will last year.

“And look at this,” she said, shuffling the papers. “The body temperatures.”

Each of the temperatures scribbled and initialed on the sheet read around ninety degrees, lower than the average human body temperature.

“He likes it cold,” Will said, nodding. 

Mike shook his head, his mouth twisted in a pensive grimace.

“Alright, so this crazy old woman was eating fertilizer--.”

“Mrs. Driscoll,” corrected Nancy.

“Yeah, right--Mrs. Driscoll,” Mike said, rolling his eyes. Nancy always had to correct him. “What time was the attack?”

“Last night,” Nancy repeated.

“Right,” Mike said, gesturing. “But, what time last night?”

A sinking feeling settled in the stomachs of Max, El, Will, and Y/N. They all picked up on the point Mike was about to make.

“Around nine,” Nancy said with a shrug.

Jonathan turned, resting his hands on his hips.

“You waited all night to call?” His voice was breathy with incredulity. 

Nancy matched his gaze.

“I was waiting for the doctors to run some tests,” she replied with a shrug.

“You weren’t there?” Will asked.

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Jonathan threw up his hands.

“Hallelujah,” Nancy snarked.

Lucas winced audibly. Max and El silently made eye contact. Will looked down at his hands, regretting asking anything at all. Y/N bit her lip, determined not to say a word. Mike looked at his sister expectantly, completely oblivious to what had transpired. The room, all at once, became incredibly tense. Mike and El were clearly not the only couple having issues. 

“Um, so, wha--what time was your...sauna test,” Nancy rambled. 

“Nine o’clock,” the rest mumble in partial unison.

“Well,” Nancy said, gaze rising from the floor. “That proves it! That proves my theory!”

“She’s flayed, just like Billy,” Mike concluded. 

“Flayed,” Jonathan repeated with confusion. 

“The Mind Flayer,” Mike explained. “He flays people. Takes over their mind. Once he does that, they become part of him.”

“If there are two flayed…,” Lucas pondered.

“We have to assume there are more,” Will interrupted. 

“Heather,” El gasped, realization dawning her features. “Billy was doing something to her. She was scared; she was screaming. Bad screams.”

“What’s a good scream,” Lucas asked. Max cut him a sharp look.

“Max said--,” El began.

“Doesn’t matter,” Max broke in, cheeks growing pink.

Nancy shook her head in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I’m lost. Heather who,” she asked. 

The one who threw the New Year's Party. She’s a lifeguard at the pool, too,” Max replied.

“Heather Holloway,” Nancy asked. 

The group nodded in reply. Y/N sat in quiet disbelief, her stomach turning from the news.

Nancy and Jonothan shared a panicked gaze, their earlier tension dissolved.

“Tom,” they breathed in tandem. 

  
  


The group piled into Nancy’s Hatchback to head to the Holloway home. Jonothan hopped in shotgun. The girls sat behind. All three boys were stuck in the shuttle seats.

_

On a perfectly made bed, blankets smooth and sheets tucked, Billy sat. Clad in his faded Wrangler jeans, barefoot and shirtless, he sat. Backs straight and hands resting on knees, he sat. And waited. And waited. Waited. His work was finished for now. 

His master was pleased with all that he had accomplished. Dozens of assets had been recruited to give of themselves for the mission. Heather had been indispensable in the task. It was much easier to hogtie a grown man when you had another pair of hands to aid you.

Somewhere in the depths of his psyche, Billy Hargrove was still in there. There was still the little boy who frosted cupcakes with his mother. Still the short-tempered big brother who protected his little sister with words and fists. The affectionate boyfriend who had his girlfriend’s work schedule scrawled on a notepad in the glove compartment of his Camaro. 

But, thickly stacked over the warmth and charm that was Billy Hargrove, were the cold, viscous bricks of his master’s control. It pervaded even further than his mind. It weighed down his bones, slowed the flow of the blood in his veins. It darkened his eyes, contaminated his words. The stronger his master became, the weaker Billy’s being became. His possession strengthened the fibers of his muscles, fortified the minerals of his bones, and toughened the tissue of his skin. Temporarily. Once the mission was complete and his master’s nemesis was annihilated, there would be no need for Billy or any of the other assets. 

Once the task at hand was completed, the beast would dispose of his victims.

Each and every one.

_

Nancy knocked politely on the front door of the Holloway home. When no answer came, she rang the doorbell.

“Mr. Holloway?” she called.

When only silence followed, she and Jonothan nodded to El. The adolescent focused on the knob of the door; her brow furrowed. The gilded doorknob trembled before the front door flew open. The teens paused for some sort of response--a startled shout, something. When the house was silent, Nancy and Jonothan hesitantly crossed the threshold. The rugs and runners at the entrance were bunched and out of place.

“Tom? Heather?” Nancy called. “Jesus, it’s freezing.”

The group treaded cautiously into the home, shivering all the way. 

“Do you guys smell that,” Nancy asked. 

The group sniffled. Y/N’s eyes began to water as they all walked into the kitchen.

“Ugh,” Mike groaned, as his nostrils were assaulted with the acrid odor of chemicals.

Reaching the kitchen, they were met with the source of the smell: cleaners. Piles and piles of bottles, tubes, and sprays. Liquid, powder, foam. Liquid Gold, Comet, Clorox. All of it littered the room. 

“Oh, God,” Nancy said, taking in the sight of an overturned refrigerator covered in blue streaks of Windex. “More chemicals.

Jonathan stepped over the mess and picked up a crush can of Spic and Span.

“You think they’re guzzling this shit,” he asked.

“Either that, or they just went on one hell of a cleaning spree,” Nancy replied, stepping around a pile of Ajax.

“But, last year,” Max interjected. “Will didn’t eat chemicals. Did you?”

“No,” Will answered, shaking his head. This was beginning to make him increasingly nervous. “This is something new.”

Mike looked around the kitchen, the gears of his mind spinning.

“Mr. Clarke, fifth grade. Posit,” he recited. “What happens when you mix chemicals together?”

“You create a new substance,” Lucas and Will replied in unison. 

“What if they’re making something?” Mike wondered aloud.

“In themselves,” Max questioned dubiously. “I mean, come on. If you drink this crap, it’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, if you’re human,” Lucas rebutted. 

**(Recommended listening - “Heather’s” by Kyle Dixon)**

The group of friends crept from the kitchen to the dining room. That room, too, was empty. What was present, however, was a perfectly set table. It had been set for four people. Heather, her parents, and a guest. There plates of food left uneaten. Glasses were half-full; the table cloth was still damp with rings of condensation from melted ice. Yet, there wasn’t an ant or fly in sight. The entire house was devoid of life. 

A stain on a nearby rug caught Nancy’s attention. She crouched down to get a closer look.

“Blood,” she breathed. 

A tense static fell over the room. The Holloway domicile felt less like a home and more like a crime scene. 

“Yesterday, Tom had a bandage on his forehead,” Nancy recalled. 

Jonathan nodded, remembering the latex Band-Aid on his boss’ temple.

Nancy glanced about, spotting a wine bottle she hadn’t noticed before. The white label of the green glass bottle was stained red with blood. She grasped the bottle and stood, pieces falling into place. 

“He was attacked,” she breathed.

The group began to puzzle together the clues around the house. The bunched runner on the floor. The bloodstained patch of carpet behind the door. A streak of blood leading to the garage. A yard of cut rope. 

“They must have tied them,” Jonathan concluded. “They must have taken them somewhere.”

“Mrs. Driscoll,” Nancy said suddenly. “She kept saying, ‘I have to go back’. What if the flaying..it’s taking place somewhere else. There must be a place where all this started, right? A source.”

“Somewhere he didn’t want me to see,” El chimed in. 

“If we can find the source, then maybe we can stop him. Or, at least, stop him from spreading or doing whatever the hell he’s doing with those chemicals,” Nancy said.

“How do we find it,” El asked. 

Will looked up, an idea forming in his mind.

“Mrs. Driscoll,” he replied. “If she wants to go back so badly, why don’t we let her?”

To do that, they would have to locate Mrs. Driscoll at Hawkins Memorial Hospital and sneak her out.

“Wait a second, guys,” came a voice that had been mostly silent since entering the Holloway home. Y/N stepped forward, eyes flitting from face to face. She was anxious. Walking through a crime scene will do that to a person. But, it was deeper than that. She had not been back to Heather’s house since the New Year’s party. Even with the place in disarray, covered in cleaning supplies and traces of dried blood, it still had her stomach in knots. She couldn’t stop the memories from coming back. Couldn’t shake the nerves. But, she had to speak up for her friends’ safety.

“If Billy’s possession by the Mind Flayer has given him superhuman strength, won’t Mrs. Driscoll be the same way? El was almost strangled to death last time we came face to face with someone possessed. I don’t think this is a good idea. Especially, if all these chemicals and human victims are just making the monster stronger,” she said.

“I will keep us safe,” El said firmly.

Y/N offered her a soft smile.

“But, you shouldn’t have to. We’re walking headfirst into something we don’t completely understand,” Y/N urged gently.

“We’ve got strength in numbers,” Nancy said confidently. “We have to try. Someone has to.”

Y/N bit her lip. If she wanted out of this whole thing--this huge, bubbling, swirling disaster brewing in Hawkins--now was the time to bail. She thought back to the sauna test. Billy had been difficult to fight off. Could they take on Mrs. Driscoll if it came to that? What other choice did she have but to try?

She sighed.

“I guess you’re right,” she conceded. Surely, the eight of them could take on one elderly woman.

Right?

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's gonna be heckin' gore in the next chapter. no main character death. 
> 
> comments are loved and adored <3


	27. don't switch the blade on the masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, a hospital isn't the best place for the sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert embarrassed meme here* so much for updating every week, right? i'm so sorry for the wait. i picked up another job (yay but also what is "free time"?) trying to finish strong!

The crew marched through the sliding doors of Hawkins Memorial Hospital, Nancy leading them. Sneakers and ballet flats scuffed polished linoleum floors as they hurried past the front desk. A nurse at the front stopped them before they could make it to the elevators.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Excuse me!” She rose from her seat and planted a hand on her hip. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Nancy turned, smiling sweetly.

“Oh! Um...I was just going to visit my grandma again. And--and this...this is my family,” she fibbed gesturing to the herd of teens behind her.

“Extended,” Lucas added.

“I don’t care who you are. You know the rules: two visitors at a time,” snapped the nurse, the sunny print on her scrub vest not quite matching her disposition. 

“Yeah, but--,” Nancy began.

“Two,” she repeated. The nurse sat back down behind the desk and picked up the telephone. Whoever was on the other line got an earful about a little girl bringing a “whole zoo” into the waiting room.

The plan successfully foiled, the group agreed that Nancy and Jonathan should be the ones to visit Mrs. Driscoll. They were the only to have met her before and the least likely to cause any suspicion. As they made their way to her room, the rest of the friends settled into various parts of the waiting room.

Y/N sat beside Will. The younger of the two flipped through a magazine while Y/N watched a titillating scene unfold in front of them. 

Mike and Lucas nervously stood in front of the snack vending machine. Despite inserting the proper currency and pressing the corresponding button on the machine, the chosen Kit Kat bar remained stuck in its place. Both Mike and Lucas offered the machine a barrage of kicks, punches, and curses before the magic happened. 

An unseen force erupted inside the faulty vending machine. The mysterious jolt shook the confections from their places, right where the boys could reach them. Glancing across the lobby, they spotted as El quickly wiped a streak of blood from beneath her nose. 

Lucas stared incredulously between Mike and El. 

“Are you kidding me? That was your sign,” Lucas whispered loudly as he loaded his arms with treats. 

“My  _ what _ ,” Mike whisper-yelled in response.

Lucas shook his head and stuffed a Snickers in his pocket.

“You’re more hopeless than I thought. That was your sign, your olive branch. Go talk to her,” Lucas advised. 

Mike shrugged, looking down at the armful of chips and candy bars.

“I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled.

“How about ‘sorry for being a dumbass’? Tell her she means the world to you and that you were stupid to mess things up. And tell her she’s beautiful. Girls love that stuff,” Lucas offered. 

“I can’t; it won’t work,” Mike refused.

Lucas dropped the snacks to firmly grab Mike’s arm. He looked him in the eye with sober seriousness.

“You can and it will. Now, go out there and get your girl,” he affirmed. “You got this.”

“I got this,” Mike repeated. 

As the boys bantered, El and Max drifted apart from boredom. The former took a seat beside Will, perusing a celebrity gossip magazine.

Y/N flipped through an issue of National Geographic, skimming through an article on the mysteries of the bottom of the ocean. While the pictures entered her mind, she was hardly capable of absorbing any of the information in the words before her. She just wanted a distraction from the otherworldly turmoil brewing in her hometown. Just for a moment. Her eyes scanned a paragraph about the bioluminescent fish that inhabited ocean depths. Of the jellyfish that lacked nuclei and lived forever. She wondered how Billy was faring. Where he was. What he would be like if--no,  _ when _ \--he survived the Mindflayer’s possession. Would he be the same? Or, like Will--forever haunted with chills and whispers from an impervious shadow beast?

With a heavy sigh, she closed the worn magazine. She couldn’t distract herself, not from this.

She turned to Will.

“How are you holding up,” she asked him.

Will looked up in surprise. 

“Uh--,” he cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

Y/N scooted one seat closer to Will. She leaned in so as not to be overheard.

“Really, Will. How are you feeling with all this,” she asked. “I know this affects you differently than anyone.”

Will shrugged. He fiddled with the drawstring of his shorts.

“I’m alright, I guess. Just wondering when it’ll all end. If it’ll end. Every time I think things are getting better--normal--He comes back. And He’s always stronger than the last time. Bigger, faster...more violent,” he mumbled. “More people keep getting hurt.”

His eyes met Y/N’s then. A look of pity and shared pain. The way one glances at across the room to a friend to convey a wordless message. A message as soundless as a clutching hand or a comforting embrace.

“We’ll stop him. We’ll save Billy too. We’ll figure out a way,” Will assured. 

Y/N nervously chewed her bottom lip.

“You have any ideas,” she asked.

Will shrugged again, looking down at his hands.

“I’m sure El does. She’s come face-to-face with Him more than any of us. I’m sure she has a plan. Or we’ll come up with one together. We won’t give up. Not on anyone,” he assured.

The two continued to talk in murmuring voices. Will described to Y/N all the other forms that the beast had taken: Demogorgon, Dart, Demodog, slithering otherworldly tentacles that grow underground. They tossed around various strategies based on the knowledge they had on the evolved Mind Flayer. Will offered his theories as to the creature’s weaknesses and its possible motivation for controlling human beings. Whatever the beast’s plan was this time, it seemed that it had evolved since Will’s possession. 

_

**(Recommended listening “Sunglasses at Night” by Corey Hart)**

In a clandestine laboratory below Starcourt Mall, a gargantuan generator whirred. It projected a bright, electrical current into what could only be described as a “gate”. Having spotted it, Erica, Steve, Dustin, and Robin quickly fled the scene. They needed to tell the others, and the authorities, about what they had seen.

“Uh, Steve,” began Erica as they entered the controls room, “What happened to your little Russian friend?”

The group froze as an alarm blared through the building. Scarlet lights flashed in every room. 

“Shit,” Steve swore, rushing to the door. He cracked it slightly and looked out. Scientists and soldiers alike marched to and fro, searching for the adolescent intruders. Just as Steve spotted the Russians, the Russians spotted Steve.

“Halt! Halt!” They yelled.

With a gasp, Dustin pressed the door shut.

“Shit,” he swore. “Go, go, go!”

The group ran to the other end of the controls room to another door. A door that lead to another room full of suspicious Russians. Fortunately, this group was too distracted by facts and figures to act quickly. The kids bolted down a metal staircase, leading to who-knew-where. 

As fate would have it, Who-Knew-Where turned out to be the platform where the generator was located. The teens came face to face with the blinding beam tearing an opening into another dimension.

“Oh my god,” whispered Robin.

“Run,” Steve yelled, pushing them down another flight of stairs. “Go, go, go!”

He hurled himself against a fellow in a hazmat-type suit, nearly falling over himself. They sped across the cement floors of the mall underground. The sound of their skidding footsteps mingled with the clambering of military boots and angry shouting. Though the group hardly noticed, the fluorescent lights overhead began to flicker.

_

In the hospital lobby, Lucas and Max flipped through a Sears catalogue of new video games. Beside them, Mike and El shyly shared a magazine. Y/N sat nearby, enjoying the quiet. The only one unsettled, however, was Will. Y/N looked up as Will rose from his seat, eyes transfixed on the waiting room lights as they began to pop and flicker. His face grew pale has he stared above with eyes wide.

“Will?” Y/N breathed. “Will, what’s wrong?”

“He’s here,” Will whispered.

Gradually, the rest of the group began to notice the tension in the air. Magazines and catalogues were left forgotten as all jumped from their seats in panic. Hearts began to pound and pulses started to race as realization dawned. Gazes frantically shifted about the room, searching for the first site of Him.

The tension mounted as the sound of footsteps echoed on the stairwell next to the waiting room. The door swung open revealing a terrified Nancy and Jonathan. A dark substance, no quite blood, stained their skin and clothing. Their eyes were frantic; their chests heaved.

“Run,” Nancy yelled, speeding for the doors.

“Go!” Jonathan followed. “We gotta go!”

Not one asked a single question. They all followed suit, sprinting for the front doors and not looking back.

Still on the phone, the receptionist stood and placed an indigent fist on her hip. 

“Hey! No running in the hospital unless you’re wearin’ a white coat,” she hollered, phone pressed against her shoulder.

The teens paid her no mind. They were too focused on piling into Nancy’s car and getting as far from the hospital as possible. They sped away so quickly that none of them heard the receptionist’s screams in the distance.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna try for another chapter within 2 weeks. thank you for everyone staying with me! big thank you to the angels who take the time out to comment. i try to read and reply to each and every one. ty, lovelies <3


	28. invasion from the inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkins has a Trojan horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took forever. im sorry.
> 
> here's a pin board tho :3c https://www.pinterest.com/mushwrites/respect-and-responsibility/

**(Recommended listening “Make It Real” - The Jets)**

Gentle music with notes of static, flowed through the speakers of Y/N’s stereo. She sat on the floor of her room, surrounded by odds and ends. Movie tickets, arcade tokens, small notes written in pen. Each object, seemingly meaningless, held a piece of the foundation that was her and Billy’s relationship. A rough draft of Max’s extra credit project with both Billy and Y/N’s handwriting in the margins. A cassette tape with a mix of songs that she had planned to give him. The denim jacket that Billy had lent her on a cool night; it still smelled like his cologne.

Y/N pulled her knees to her chest and held them tight. Everything was so wrong. Monsters. Evil Russians. Her first ever boyfriend possessed and, possibly, beyond saving. Would anything ever go right?

She sniffled, pulling a handful of tissues from the box. She just wanted one more chance with him. She would tell her parents, the whole world if it meant that she could see the real Billy Hargrove again. To hold his hand. Twirl her fingers around the waves of his hair. Share just one more Sea Salted Caramel Swirl Sundae with him at the mall. Before he’d been changed, it hadn’t felt like a lot to ask for. Those little things that make up a relationship. But, in this moment, surrounded by crumbled pieces of paper, a single earring--because Billy had the other one, and other scraps of their romance, it felt as if she was asking the biggest, most impossible favor from the universe. She would do whatever it took to make it real.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her bedroom door. She jumped in fright.

“Just a second!” She scrambled to hide the clutter on the floor, especially Billy’s jacket. The last thing she wanted to deal with was a lecture from her parents. “Come in!”

Her mother opened the door. She leaned against the frame with a concerned smile.

“You alright in here? It’s not like you to hole yourself in your room so long,” Janine asked.

Y/N nodded, hiding her face in the shadow. She hoped her mother wouldn’t notice the tears on her face.

“I’m alright. Just kinda tired. I think I’ll go to bed early,” Y/N replied. Not really a lie, just a half-truth. 

Her mother nodded.

“Why don’t you call your friend, Robin, before you turn in? Might be good to hear from her,” her mother offered.

Y/N nodded, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I’ll do that.”

_

The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

“Hello, dear,” answered the chipper voice of Mrs. Buckley.

Y/N smiled. Robin’s parents were incredibly sweet. She had known them just as long as she’d known Robin. They were practically family.

“Hi, Mrs. Buckley. Is Robin home?”

There was a pause. She could hear the sound of Mr. Buckley’s voice in the background. 

“We haven’t seen her. You know we like to give her her freedom. I’m sure she’ll be home soon. I’ll tell her to give you a call. I’m sure she’ll be home soon. She’s probably out with that boy, Steve Harrington,” said Mrs. Buckley, voice dripping with meaning. “They’ve been getting  _ quite  _ close lately.”

The two continued to chat for a few minutes, discussing family and the local goings-on before saying their goodbyes.

After hanging up, Y/N stared quizzically at the phone in her hands. 

Robin? Dating Steve Harrington? She knew that wasn’t true. Robin had confided in her months ago about her crush on Tammy Thompson. Steve was far from Robin’s type.

So, where was she?

_

Robin leaned her head against Steve’s. The bright lights of the bunker caused her eyes to smart. Whatever drug had been administered made it hard to focus on anything other than the giggles bubbling from her throat.

Steve was just as jubilant, despite his black eye and split lip. He could hardly get a word out without bursting into a fit of laughter.

“I’ve been wearing this stupid sailor suit for,” his words interrupted by absurd laughter. “ _ Hours! _ ”

Robin responded with her own nonsensical sniggers.

“Oh my gosh,” she gasped. “Me too! Does that make us real sailors? We must be real sailors. Where’s our ship?”

“Ahoy,” Steve hollered, one eye nearly swollen shut. “Ahoy!”

The pair continued to shake with laughter, even with their limbs bound in stiff rope. The injection they had received from the Russian “doctor” had their minds a mush. Any coherent thoughts or words dissolved before fully formed. It seemed laughter was all they were capable off.

The laughter stopped when two men marched into the room. One wore an army green uniform and cap. The other Robin recognized as the “doctor”. This time, instead of a tray of vials and syringes, he carried a cart of saws, pliers, and other unidentifiable tools. Deep in her mind, Robin knew she should be afraid, but all she could manage was another giggle.

_

**(Recommended listening “The Demon” - Naeleck, Ferd)**

On the outskirts of town, in a police chief’s cabin in the woods, El sat on the floor blindfolded. Her face betrayed nothing, but a dribble of blood crept from her nose. Her chest rose and fell with measured breaths as she took in the scene in her mind’s eye: Billy Hargrove sat on his bed. He was shirtless and barefoot. He wore nothing but his Levi-Strauss jeans and a hollow expression.

“It’s,” El paused. “Billy.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name. She wondered how he was faring. Was he getting any worse? Was there any hope for him?

“What’s he doing,” Max asked urgently.

El observed for a moment more. She wanted to be sure that she wasn't missing anything. There was no room for error. As a puppet of the Mind Flayer they couldn’t afford to love tabs on him. But, watching him now, El was certain. Billy was just--

“Sitting,” El answered plainly. “He’s just...sitting. Like, he’s waiting for something.”

“Billy just sitting in his room on the Fourth of July,” Max asked incredulously. “That’s not right. It can’t be.”

Behind the blindfold, El’s vision of Billy shifted. From an empty-eyed teen, he drifted into a ruddy-faced boy with a bowl-shaped haircut. He was still barefoot and without a shirt; instead of blue jeans, he wore motley swim trunks. Under his arm, he carried a child-sized surf board. His hair and attire were dripping with salt water. He looked up and smiled breathlessly.

“Five more minutes,” he asked, mouth curved into a playful pout.

El’s view panned to that of a woman. She was young and beautiful, like a supermodel in a magazine. She wore a floral sundress that rippled in the wind. The woman returned little Billy’s grin with one of her own.

El recounted what she saw to her friends.

“That’s California,” Max explained. “He’s with his mom.”

Y/N pondered Max’s words a moment before she spoke. She had been quiet as she’d watched El use her powers. 

“Billy told me his mom left home one night and never came back. His parents had been arguing and she drove off in the rain. Neal left right after. Billy hasn’t heard from her since,” Y/N informed in a hushed tone.

Max frowned.

“Neal told me that Billy’s mom had an affair and left them,” she muttered. “Why would Billy say otherwise?”

“I think the real question is why would  _ Neal  _ say otherwise,” hinted Lucas.

El’s thoughts drifted from the conversation and back to the images before her. 

“Five more minutes. We’ve got to get home before the storm comes,” the woman replied.

On the horizon of the beach, there was indeed a storm brewing. Heavy, grey clouds blocked out lingering rays of sunlight. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning flashed erratically in strange, scarlet hues. Driven by curiosity, El walked into the tempest.

A whirlwind of sand and detritus spun through the air as El fought her way deeper into the storm. She pushed past blurry images of Billy earlier in life--repressed memories. Billy at a baseball game with his father. Billy shielding his mother from abuse and taking the brunt of it himself. Billy taking out his frustrations on smaller, weaker children--calling them all the names that his father called him. Billy meeting his stepsister, Maxine, for the first time. As the wind whipped harder, the memories slowly became more recent. The obscured light of the sun mutated blood red as El encountered an unfamiliar building. A funnel of smog circled above, an ominous swirl of smoke and toxin. As she inched closer, she spotted Billy’s totaled Camaro; the blue vehicle was battered and dented--the windshield shattered from an apparent collision. The glass covered in a strange, slick ooze. In the distance, she heard Billy’s voice--frightened and incensed--calling out to no one at all.

“I think I found it,” she said, breathing heavily. “The source.”

Tension filled air as everyone scooted a bit further to the edge of their seats. Max asked the question that was on everyone’s minds:

“Where, El? Where are you?”

With abilities only she had, El paced cautiously toward the edifice. Billy was nowhere to be seen; she could hear his screams in the distance.

“Brim--Brimborn,” El read from a faded sign on the building’s face.

“It must be Brimborn Steel Works,” remarked Jonathan. “It’s been abandoned for as long as I can remember. Folks say it’s haunted.”

“That must be where the Mind Flayer is luring his victims,” Nancy proposed. 

Jonathan crossed the room and grabbed a phone book from the kitchen table. Flipping through the pages in a frenzy.

“Uh...steel, steelworks…,” he mumbled as he searched, nearly tearing pages. “There! 6522 Cherry Oak Drive!”

“We found it,” Mike yelled to the blindfolded El. “ Get out of there! Get out!”

Y/N bit her lip as they awaited El’s full return to this dimension. Rather than remove her blindfold and breathe a sigh of relief, as she always did, El began to squirm in her seat on the floor. Her breathing became shallow and quickly paced. Sweat beaded on her brow as the room looked on.

“El,” Mike yelled. “El, come back!”

Max looked on anxiously as El continued to sit with no reply. Will’s leg bounced in worry while El continued to spiral into some sort of unspoken panic.

“What’s happening,” Y/N whispered to Lucas. 

“I don’t know. It usually doesn’t take her this long to come back,” he muttered in reply.

The room fell quiet as a crypt as the friends sat impatiently. All were at a loss. This had never happened before. What could they do?

From behind the blindfold, El slowly retraced her steps from the other world. The memories she saw moved backwards in her mind’s eye--from California to Hawkins and all the horror in between. She removed her blindfold with a heavy sigh, opening her eyes to...an empty living room. Her breath caught in her throat. She scrambled to her feet looking for someone, anyone.

“Mike,” she whimpered. “Mike!”

Some distance away, a floorboard creaked. 

“He can’t hear you,” a deep voice menaced.

El spun around, meeting Billy’s empty glare. 

He stalked toward her, shoulders tensed. 

“All this time,” he growled. “We’ve been building it. We’ve been building it...for you.”

El sobbed. Her chest heaved, shoulders trembling in panic. She looked around the room for some way out.

“All that work,” Billy continued, grinning in pride. “All that pain--all of it, for you. And now it’s time to end it. And we are going to end you.”

El backed into the kitchen, fear propelling her backward.

“And when you are gone, we are going to end your friends,” Billy threatened. 

El screamed denial, a shriek into a void.

His voice was steady; his chin never trembled. Yet, a solitary tear dripped down Billy’s cheek. 

“And then, we are going to end,” he breathed, “everyone.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna see this series to the end. i promise you all <3


End file.
